


Somewhere Tonight

by Frequently_Humming



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-04 14:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frequently_Humming/pseuds/Frequently_Humming
Summary: "Out of curiosity-,""How did you find me," Finn interrupted, looking over his shoulder at the other man on the roof with him, his arms hugged around his chest for warmth against the wind."Just went to the place I'd go to hide," Bastian shrugged in response, inching closer to Finn.  "Seriously though, I don't get it.  I've told you everything.  Poe's still mad at me for that, not that anyone cares.  What's the holdup on your end?""Just," Finn broke off with a huff and shake of the head.  "It doesn't seem real.  Like, that's not how life works.""Maybe this time it is.""Why?  Because you say so," Finn asked, annoyed at the flippant response."Exactly," Bastian smiled tiredly, watching his exhale escape as steam into the night.  "Because I say so."





	1. Don't Want to Say that I'm Missing You Bad (but I am)

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, I'm not sure where this little story came from. But it burrowed its way into my mind like a splinter and wouldn't leave me alone until it got written. It makes me smile, and I hope it does the same for you :)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Note: title and chapter titles taken from the Gin Blossoms song "Somewhere Tonight" and I swear it'll make sense by the end.

Bastian tapped his feet against the gray, speckled carpet, scrolling through Twitter idly as another airplane taxied outside the wall of windows.  He had his small carry-on under his seat and Beastie Boys pumping through his earbuds, the trash from his lunch crumpled in a greasy Wendy’s bag between his feet.

 

Not exactly how he planned his Wednesday going, but it could have been worse. 

 

Probably.

 

At least he liked Chicago.

 

Which reminded him…

 

Bastian closed Twitter, noticing the news of his trade hadn’t broken yet.  Truth be told, there wouldn’t be much press; he was having a pretty good season for a defenseman, but no one outside of Phoenix knew his name.  And that was fine by him; he wanted a career, not press clippings.  Anyway, there could come a time when he’d pray for the anonymity, and he wasn’t going to take it for granted now.  Nodding to himself, mostly along to the pounding beat in his ears, he opened his text messages and scrolled down through his recently received until he found a string that had been cold for about a month. 

 

Deciding not to feel bad about that, Bastian quickly typed with his thumbs ‘ _Hey.  Is that pullout bed still up for grabs?’_ before he felt eyes on him and looked up, blinking against the bright sunlight streaming through the tall windows.  A boy and girl, probably siblings judging by the matching backpacks, were standing in the aisle between the row of seats about a foot away from him.  The boy was prodding the girl with his elbow, looking up at her with wide, pressuring eyes, while the girl sent Bastian a nervous smile.  Bastian pulled out his earbuds with a quick jerk on the wire and smiled back encouragingly.

 

“Hello.  Can I help you,” he asked, leaning forward a bit.

 

“Um,” the girl swallowed and gave the boy a small shove with a hissed, “I’m asking-cut it out!”  Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked Bastian straight in the eye.  “Are you Bastian Bridger?  Because my brother is obsessed with you and--,”

 

“Am not,” the boy cried out indignantly, crossing his arms with a glare at his sister.

 

“Are too,” she shot back blandly.  “You sleep in his jersey.”

 

“You have his poster,” the boy pointed out, turning to Bastian for the first time.  “She does, and she’s trying to learn that between-the-leg poke check you do—that is you, right?”

 

Bastian exhaled through his nose and his smile softened.  “Yeah, that’s me.  The trick to the poke check,” he explained, folding his arms across his knees so he could be face-to-face with the kids, “isn’t actually the check—it’s the change of direction after.  Took me months of drills to get it down.”

 

“I’m just practicing in the street,” the girl said, grinning widely now as the boy fidgeted excitedly, staring at Bastian in something like wonder.  “But Mom promised we’re going to hockey camp this summer.”

 

“That’s great,” Bastian nodded.  “I loved hockey camp when I was your age.”

 

“Whitney, Joshua, please don’t bother the poor man,” called an exasperated woman four seats down on Bastian’s right.

 

“They’re not bothering me,” Bastian replied quickly, and received a disbelieving shake of the head in reply.

 

“Can we have your autograph,” the boy blurted out, and Bastian was pulling out his duffle bag to find a pen as he said,

 

“Yeah, of course.  Do you have--,” he broke off as two burgundy jerseys were suddenly thrust at him, large white number 32s and ‘Bridger’ pointed up at him.  Bastian smiled crookedly, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes appearing, and the two children just blinked back at him, their blue and green backpacks now unzipped at their feet.  “Well, alright then.  So,” he began, taking the boy’s jersey first, “what brings you here on this fine day?”

 

The boy giggled, too focused on Bastian scrawling ‘To Joshua’ across the 2 before scribbling his own signature to answer.  Whitney explained, “We were here for spring break.  We begged Mom so we could see a Coyotes game.”

 

“She wanted to see you play,” Joshua slipped in, taking his jersey back with a soft ‘thank you.’

 

Whitney’s cheeks flushed pink slightly, looking away as Bastian accepted her jersey next.  “So did you see Monday’s game?  Did you like it,” Bastian pressed curiously, remembering the overtime win.

 

“Yeah,” Whitney said, suddenly shy, and Bastian decided to add a heart after his ‘To Whitney’ to be nice.

 

“And are you heading home now,” Bastian directed at Joshua, who was staring at Bastian’s name transfixed.

 

“Uh huh,” the boy grunted.

 

“Chicago,” Whitney added, biting her bottom lip as Bastian chuckled and passed the now-signed jersey back to her.

 

“Chicago, huh?  Well, do you two want to know a secret?  But you can’t tell anyone yet,” Bastian warned teasingly, and the two children nodded eagerly.  “You might be seeing me play closer to home soon.”

 

Joshua’ and Whitney’s jaws dropped but before either of them could say anything the announcement came on for pre-boarding and families to line up for the American flight to Chicago.  Their mother got to her feet wearily and called her kids back, heaving her stuffed bag over her shoulder.  The siblings exchanged a quick look, but Bastian waved them off, watching them shoot him awed looks over their shoulders as they gathered their bags and headed to join their mother.  Bastian basked in the soft glow of satisfaction for a moment as he settled back into his seat, waiting for boarding group B to be called. 

 

As he pushed his earbuds back into place (smirking as ‘ _I didn’t know I was lost at the time on Allison Road_ ’ chimed though the small speakers) and checked his phone to see _‘Let me know when you land.  You still have your key, right?’_ , Bastian had a strange feeling that he was heading home to place he’d never lived.

 

*****

 

Finn tried not to feel disappointed that his bus ride home was minus one particular commuter.  For one thing, it’s not like they were always on the same bus—one of them almost always had to work late.  For another, Finn wasn’t really in the mood to talk.  It had been one of those days that made him wonder if he even wanted to spend his life doing this.  But he knew, from experience, something would happen tomorrow that would remind him this was it, this was what he needed to be doing.

 

And if today was going to be write-off anyway, it was just as well a certain someone wasn’t hanging on to the pole next to him, trying to cheer him up in that annoyingly effective bracing manner with that stupid warm smile. 

 

Just as well, really.

 

That’s what Finn tried to convince himself as he pressed the button indicating he wanted off this jostling, crowded vehicle and jumped out the back door into the icy cold before they had a chance to slam shut on him.  He scowled after the bus as it accelerated to catch a yellow light at the corner before turning away with a shake of his head.  Finn headed down the street, torn between dragging his feet because he was exhausted and jogging to get out of the freezing wind that whipped down the streets and through the alleys.  Another arctic blast, courtesy of an uncooperative jet stream and their maple syrup-loving neighbors to the north.  Not that Finn had anything against Canada, but he’d prefer they kept their winter vortexes to themselves.

 

One and a half blocks later, he clomped up the stairs to his apartment building’s door, fiddling with his keys with his thick gloved fingers until he got a grip on the correct one and shoved it into the lock.  He pushed open the door, sneezing at the blast of dry, heated air as he slumped his way into the small, narrow entryway.

 

“Hey!  Hold the door,” came a cry and Finn jumped back to catch handle of the wood and glass door, wrenching it open with too much momentum.  He stumbled back into the wall of small metal mailboxes, and into the lobby jogged a tall man, laden with baggage and a bright smile.  “Thanks, man.  I have a key but I don’t even know what bag it’s in,” the man said as Finn released the handle and let the door slowly swing shut by its own weight. 

 

“No problem,” Finn answered, observing as the man adjusted a huge black bag on his back and set a large wheeled suitcase at his feet as he pulled of his black knitted beanie, revealing neat tight cornrows.  “Uh, do you want a hand?”

 

The man shot Finn a warm, friendly smile that Finn knew he would’ve reciprocated if he wasn’t feeling dead inside.  “Nah, I’ve got it.  Just, can you remind me where the elevator is?”

 

“I can, but it’s been broken for two days.”

 

The man’s face fell comically fast, and Finn did smirk a little at that.  Looking from the suitcase to the flight of stairs visible through the propped-open door next to the mailboxes, the man in a camel-colored overcoat and jeans turned to Finn apologetically.  “Then I’m gonna take you up on that offer, if you don’t mind?”

 

Finn shrugged and held out his hands, expecting the suitcase and getting a small, light duffle bag instead while the other man picked up the suitcase with both hands and started for the stairs.  Finn wondered idly if he should be insulted—did he look like someone who couldn’t handle more than ten pounds—but didn’t have the energy to care and followed the stranger up the stairs.

 

“It’s only the third floor,” the man said over his shoulder, sounding reassuring, and Finn snorted.

 

“Thank God, my arm feels like it’s about to fall off,” he drawled back drily, and the other man’s laugh boomed through the stairwell.

 

“I’ll pay you back in beer, promise,” the man replied cheerfully, setting a quick pace despite the duel weights he was lugging.  Finn had to take two steps at a time to keep up and was too focused on not tripping to reply, but the other man didn’t seem to need encouragement.  “It’s a bit nippy out, huh?”

 

“It’ll freeze your balls off,” Finn corrected with a grunt, dodging around the other man on the third-floor landing to open the door.  The man chuckled and nodded his thanks, walking into the lit, carpeted hallway before setting the suitcase down and pulling up the handle.

 

“Yeah, that too,” the man responded, leading the way but slowly enough for Finn to fall into step next to him.  “Not that mine are really doing much at the moment anyway.” 

 

“Okay,” Finn said blankly, because for some reason the other man had dropped that little tidbit as if it was polite and natural, like asking about the weather was always followed by some comment on genitalia.  But before he had a chance to question it out loud, the man stopped in front of one of the white-painted doors and Finn got distracted again as the man started pounding his fist against it and then slapping one palm against the metal.  It took him a moment to figure out that the man was beating ‘We Will Rock You’ and in that time Finn didn’t look at the door number, didn’t notice the welcome mat with the alpaca under his feet, didn’t notice until it was too late.

 

The door opened, and the man threw out his arms, announcing loudly, “Daddy, I’m home!”

 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Poe beamed, accepting as the man tossed his arms around his neck.  Poe laughed softly, slinging his own arms around the man’s waist and twisting his neck awkwardly to place a kiss on the man’s ear.  “Missed you, bud.”

 

“Missed you too,” the man mumbled into Poe’s shoulder.  Finn tried to back away, but he was stilling holding the damn duffle bag.  He tried to lower it to the floor gently, and the movement caught Poe’s attention.  Finn watched as Poe’s eyes found his and widened, back straightening and smile shifting from happy to surprised and bewildered.  The man must have felt something change—maybe the air really did feel heavier and it wasn’t just Finn’s imagination—and pulled back, following Poe’s gaze.  “Oh, yeah.  Your neighbor helped me carry my stuff.  I promised him a beer.  That’s okay, right?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Poe answered, gaze still trained on Finn as he stepped aside to let the man shuffle into the apartment.  “Come on in, Finn.”

 

Finn swallowed and hesitated in the hall.  “Yeah, that’s not—I should probably--,”

 

“Don’t let Poe tell you he doesn’t have any,” the man’s voice called from inside, and Finn peeked through the doorway in time to see him emerge from Poe’s bedroom, suitcase and bag gone.  “He always hides the good stuff under the sink.  I don’t know _why_ \--,”

 

“So you wouldn’t find it, you nutcase,” Poe quipped over his shoulder before he fixed another look on Finn.  “Seriously, it’s fine.  Bastian will hunt you down if you don’t let him thank you now.”

 

“Yeah, I probably will,” Bastian chimed unembarrassed from Poe’s kitchen.  Deciding he must have entered a parallel universe after getting off the bus, Finn finally stepped over the threshold and Poe leaned in.  For one second Finn braced himself, holding his breath, but Poe just closed the door gently and pulled back.  He shot Finn a curious look, and Finn tried to look natural.  “When did you start drinking IPAs,” Bastian’s voice asked, interrupting something.  Poe blinked and then shook his head, walking towards the kitchen and away from Finn.

 

“I’ve always drank IPAs,” Poe told Bastian, who popped up from the floor holding the necks of three beer bottles between his fingers.

 

“Yeah, but now you’re, like, stocked for the apocalypse,” Bastian shot back, placing the three bottles down on the counter.  Poe leaned around him to check something in a steaming pot, and Bastian molded around him, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a bottle opener.  Finn observed as the two accommodated each other, Bastian passing Poe a wooden spoon, Poe taking it and scooping something from the pot to offer it over.  Bastian blew over the hot contents and cracked open one of the beers, passing it to Poe’s free hand as he slurped out of the spoon.  “Delicious, needs some pepper, you didn’t have to cook,” Bastian said all in one breath.

 

“I kinda did,” Poe shrugged, picking up the pepper grinder from the counter and putting it to work as Bastian open the second beer and held it out to Finn, signaling that he hadn’t been forgotten.  “It’s a big day, you know.”

 

“It’s not really,” Bastian winced before catching sight of his bag still in Finn’s hand.  “Shit, sorry.  Pass it over,” he smiled, trading the beer for his bag.  Finn just held his beer limply as he watched Bastian toss the bag into Poe’s bedroom thoughtlessly.  “So, Finn, right?  You and Poe know each other?”

 

“Yeah,” Finn said as Poe replied

 

“A bit.”

 

Finn’s brow furrowed and Poe slowly turned away from the stove, face twisted in a remorseful grimace.  Bastian, oblivious, missed the exchange as he opened his beer and said, “That’s cool.  How’d you two meet?”

 

There was a pause while Finn and Poe played a silent game of chicken, waiting to see which one would crack first.  Bastian took a gulp of his beer, waiting.  Finally, Poe said carefully, “We take the same bus.”

 

“We do,” Finn agreed.

 

“Bus buddies!  Nice,” Bastian grinned.  “Poe meets all his friends on public transportation.  Didn’t you tell me about that one guy you met when your El train broke down?”

 

“Iolo,” Poe supplied, looking relieved at the change of subject and Finn frowned down at his shoes, realizing he was still in his coat and gloves.  “Funniest thing, two days after that I ended up in his office.  One of my cases went to mediation, and it turns out the guy is one of the best in Chicago.  He mostly does custody cases but--,”

 

“Iolo Arana,” Finn inquired suddenly, and Poe’s jaw dropped.

 

“Just gonna put this out there,” Bastian started lightly, “but I don’t think there’s a lot of guys named ‘Iolo’ running around.”

 

“You know him,” Poe asked, sounding almost alarmed, and Finn shrugged.

 

“Yeah, we met, like, a few months ago.  One of the kids—well,” Finn trailed off, casting a glance at the blatantly curious Bastian hovering across the countertop.  “Anyway, we’ve hung out a few times.”

 

“Have you,” Poe asked with a slight edge.

 

“I’m starting to feel left out,” Bastian joked, crossing his arms.  “When do I get to meet this guy?”

 

“That’s—not a terrible idea,” Poe mumbled, mostly to himself.  Finn and Bastian exchanged a look before Finn remembered the earlier scene in the kitchen and glanced down at his full bottle of beer.

 

“Right, you’re starting to sound like a mad scientist, so you need to eat something,” Bastian stated, moving over to the stove and Poe shifted to the side to allow access.  “Finn, you want to stay for chicken stew?  It’s amazing—Poe’s specialty.”

 

“I know,” Finn let slip, instantly hearing the blood rushing in his ear as Poe winced and Bastian froze at the stove.  “I—I’ve got to go.  Rey—needs help…painting…the ceiling, so bye.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Bastian called after him as Finn booked it out of the cozy apartment with its white curtains and worn, comfortable couch and accent lights, letting the door close behind him with a click.  “He seems stressed,” Bastian mentioned to Poe, who sighed and slumped back against the counter, covering his face with his hands.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled into his palms.  Bastian gave him a moment to wallow silently as he took out two bowls from the cupboard.

 

“Are you gonna tell me about it or should I just pretend there was nothing weird about those five minutes?”

 

“He’s…the guy I told you about,” Poe admitted begrudgingly and immediately regretted it as Bastian’s jaw fell open and eyes bugged.

 

“No fucking _way_!  He’s The Guy?!”

 

“Shut up,” Poe hissed, going to get the spoons out of the drawer next to the fridge.

 

“Go bring him back,” Bastian ordered, hands on his hips.

 

“He’s not coming back, Bas,” Poe said, resigned.

 

“Of course he’ll come back,” Bastian rolled his eyes, shuffling to the side so Poe could serve out the rice and stew into the bowls.  “I mean, clearly there was something there just now.”

 

“It’s called Awkwardness.  I think you’re acquainted with it,” Poe muttered, heading to the small round kitchen table with a bowl and spoon in each hand as Bastian traipsed behind him.

 

“But you said you didn’t even know how it fizzled out.  Maybe he doesn’t know either!  Come on, we can sort this out in three seconds if you--,”

 

“Stop,” Poe said firmly, and Bastian went silent, lips pressed together as if he had to physically keep the words from spilling out.  “Sit,” Poe went on, nodding at one of the red chairs, and Bastian folded himself down, hands folded in his lap and he could’ve been the eight-year-old Poe remembered picking up from hockey practice.  “Thanks for the concern I don’t need—don’t talk,” he went on as Bastian’s mouth parted, “but let’s forget about that for tonight, okay?  I’m just happy you’re here.  How did your meeting with the coaches go,” he asked, placing one of the bowls in front of the younger man before moving to sit across from him.

 

For a moment Bastian considered pressing Poe further, but he got one stern look in his direction and dropped it.  “They want me at practice tomorrow, and they’re going to put me in the line-up for Friday’s game.  They’ve been having terrible luck with injuries this season, so they need some bodies on D.”

 

“Do you know if they’ll keep you up or will they send you down to the minors,” Poe asked, stirring his spoon around, mixing the stew and rice together.

 

Bastian shrugged.  “Probably depends on Friday.  I just got out of the minors; I don’t want to go back for the end of the season.”

 

“But if you do,” Poe began definitively, “you’ll do your best, right?”

 

“Whatever you say, boss,” Bastian smiled, and Poe winked back.  They fell silent, gulping down the hot chicken and tomato stew, Bastian trying to fish a potato wedge in every spoonful, and Poe noticing to his amusement.  “But can I say _one_ thing,” Bastian blurted out.  Poe huffed, but shrugged and nodded.  Bastian rested his spoon against the side of his bowl, hands on the edge of the table as he leaned towards Poe.  “Talk to that guy?  I think you both need it.”

 

Poe kept his eyes on his food but said, “Yeah, I know.”

 

***

 

“He called Poe _‘daddy_ ’?”

 

“I swear to God.”

 

“And you’re sure Poe’s not actually his father?”

 

“Rey!”

 

“What, weirder things have happened!”  


	2. We've Got Our Stories and We've Got Some Secrets to Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update this time :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

** _Next Morning_ **

 

Poe was floating, as if on a cloud but more secure.  It was warm and heavy and comforting, in a way he wasn’t used to.

 

And then the blaring siren started.

 

Grunting, he cracked open one eye in a narrow slit, the sun too bright even with the curtains to defuse the light.

 

“Yours or mine,” rasped the man lying over Poe, his face turned towards the back of the sofa, ear over Poe’s heart.  Poe swallowed against the cottony morning dryness, opening his other eye and squinting over to the two cellphones sitting side by side on the TV stand.

 

“Mine,” Poe mumbled, closing his eyes again for a moment until the alarm escalated in volume and he rubbed a palm across the man’s back.  “Let me up, Bas.”

 

With a groan, Bastian shifted, bending his elbows on either side of Poe’s hips and levelling his weight up.  Poe reached behind him to grip the arm of the couch and pulled his body out from under Bastian’s.  He swung his legs over Bastian’s head as the younger man collapsed onto his stomach on the couch with a sigh.  Stretching and scratching his back, Poe slouched over to dismiss his wake-up call and check the time.  He turned back to let Bastian know he was going to shower, but the younger man looked like he’d fallen back to sleep so he let it be.

 

Exactly forty-five minutes later (sue him, he liked long, hot showers in the morning) Poe emerged from his bedroom dressed in his navy-blue suit, shoes in one hand and an undone orange tie around his neck, to the smell of brewed coffee and cooking.  He smiled crookedly and took a moment to watch Bastian putter around the kitchen before going to take a seat at the kitchen table.

 

“How’s the coffee,” Poe asked, waiting for the usual response.

 

“Black as tar and just as tasty,” Bastian answered, finishing the cadence easily with a smile in Poe’s direction.  Poe chuckled at the familiarity, dropping his shoes on the floor and adjusting his tie as Bastian poured out some of the hot beverage into a tall blue thermos and walked it over.

 

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” Poe pointed out, finishing his double Windsor knot and taking the thermos.  Bastian shrugged, heading back to the kitchen while Poe took a gulp of the perfectly drinkable coffee.

 

“You make dinner, I make breakfast.  That’s how we do it,” Bastian answered, flicking off the burner and divvying out the scrambled eggs onto the two plates next to the stove.  “Except back then you were stuck with soggy cereal and bad coffee.”

 

“You were eight,” Poe countered lightly, nodding his thanks as Bastian slid one plate in front of him, fork neatly balanced, and then sat down across from him.  “I wasn’t exactly expecting eggs Benedict and an Americana with foam art.”

 

Bastian snorted at that, shoveling a mouthful of eggs onto his fork.  “And you better not start expecting that now.  Foam art is black magic, I’m convinced.”

 

“It’s not but okay,” Poe allowed, checking his watch before starting to quickly eat his breakfast.  Bastian observed, eating at a more sedated pace, and then asked,

 

“Got somewhere to be?”

 

“Don’t want to miss the bus,” Poe answered around the rim of the thermos, shooting an unamused look at Bastian’s wide smirk.

 

“Oh, sure.  The _bus_.  You don’t want to miss the _bus_.” 

 

“You think you’re funny, but you’re not,” Poe grumbled, finishing his scrambled eggs in two more mouthfuls.

 

“I’m hilarious and you’re only denying it now cause I’m right,” Bastian shot back in a tone of satisfaction.  Poe rolled his eyes but didn’t reply as he bent down to shove his socked feet into his shoes, tying the laces with a quick double-knot.  “Tell Finn I say hi and that I still owe him a beer.”

 

“Will do,” Poe nodded, getting to his feet and heading for the coat closet next to the door.  He pushed Bastian’s coat to the side to grab his black pea coat and brown leather backpack.  “Do you know how to get to the arena?  Take a cab if--,”

 

“Relax, papi, I googled it last night,” Bastian dismissed with a wave of his hand, and Poe smiled and shook his head at the nickname.  “I’m not sure, but I’ll probably be back late.  Hey, hang on,” he added, jumping to his feet as Poe finished wrapping his scarf around his neck and picked up his keys from the hook next to the door.  Poe paused for a moment, checking his watch again, and then Bastian was in front of him, reaching around to unzip Poe’s backpack and slipping something bulky inside.  “Try and remember to eat lunch, okay?  I don’t care how many good fights you’ve got on your plate, food’s gotta be on there too.”

 

“You made me lunch,” Poe asked surprised, catching the younger man by the back of his neck as Bastian started to lean away.

 

“I put some of the leftover stew in a Tupperware,” Bastian corrected, cocking an eyebrow.  “Dude, you need a boyfriend stat if that impresses you.”

 

Poe groaned.  “God, you’re right.  Okay, I’ve got to go.  Text me your schedule when you can.  Be good,” he finished instinctively as he unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway.

 

“Be awesome,” Bastian called back as Poe powerwalked for the stairs.  He waved over his shoulder before shoving open the door to the stairwells and hurrying down to the lobby.

 

The bus was just opening its doors when Poe sprinted to the bus stop, skidding to a halt to avoid slamming into a sleepy Finn.  “Morning, buddy,” Poe chimed merrily as Finn slapped his CTA card over the scanner.

 

Finn stepped to the side after the reader beeped acceptance of his payment, looking Poe over suspiciously as the other man paid his fare.  “Good morning,” he replied primly, heading for the few open seats at the back as the bus pulled away from the curb with a jerk and a sway.  With the sixth sense he somehow developed for the other man, Finn knew Poe was following him, and something possessed him to take the window seat of an empty pair, and Poe shrugged off his bag before lowering himself into the other.

 

“First off,” Poe started, feeling somewhat emboldened by the mix of caffeine and a good breakfast, “I want to apologize for last night.”

 

“What, seriously,” Finn asked, blinking at the unexpected turn.

 

“Yeah, it was way more awkward than it needed to be, and I didn’t help the situation,” Poe replied honestly, cringing mentally at how he’d responded to Bastian’s innocent if uncomfortable questions.  “So, I’m sorry.  Honestly.”

 

Finn swallowed, knowing he was only delaying the inevitable as Poe turned a sincerely regretful look on him.  It was too early in the morning for this.  “It’s okay.  Neither of us—I mean, both of us—well, I didn’t exactly make it less awkward, did I?”

 

“Can we put last night in the ‘It Happened and We’re Over It’ category,” Poe asked with a small hopeful smile that Finn found himself echoing easily.  Finn nodded, and Poe seemed to relax into the hard seat.  “Great.  Thank you.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Finn shrugged before making the decision to go for it.  “So, Bastian,” he said and left it there, waiting for the other man to pick up the topic.

 

Poe’s face lit up, almost proudly, and Finn felt his dark mood returning from the night before.  “Yeah, he’s something, isn’t he?  He wanted me to tell you ‘hi’ and that he still owes you a beer.”

 

“I carried a bag two flights,” Finn retorted flatly, glancing out the window.  “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“I think he just wants an excuse to hang out with you,” Poe replied, tilting his head back against the headrest and missing the calculating glance Finn shot his way.  “He doesn’t know anyone here, and he decides who he thinks are good people pretty quick.”

 

“Maybe,” Finn hedged carefully, threading his fingers together and pushing his gloves further onto his hands.  “How long is he visiting for?”

 

“Who knows,” Poe said casually, closing his eyes in contentment.  “Depends on how his job goes.  But I think he’d like to make it work here.”

 

Finn hummed in the back of his throat.  “Good for him,” he muttered drily.

 

“Which reminds me,” Poe continued, opening his eyes and turning slightly to face Finn again, “I was wondering: are you busy Friday night?”

 

Finn blinked, feeling like he had whiplash from the sudden about-face.  “No,” he answered without thinking and instantly wished he’d been vaguer.

 

“Would you,” Poe paused, deciding on his words, “be open to getting a drink with me?  After last night and—well, we never really sat down and talked everything out.”

 

It was definitely too early in the morning for this, but Finn had already started down this rabbit hole; he couldn’t really back out now.  “No, we haven’t,” Finn agreed, crossing his arms and rotating to face the other man.  “Is _Bastian_ going to be there?”  

 

Poe raised an eyebrow, looking completely befuddled for some reason Finn couldn’t begin to fathom.  “Uh, no,” Poe said, his voice lilting upwards in confusion.  “For one thing, he’s working.  For another, I wouldn’t invite him along for something like this.”

 

“Right,” Finn drew out, forehead creasing as his brow furrowed.  “Because there’s got to be boundaries.”

 

“For sure,” Poe chuckled.  “Gotta draw the line somewhere.”

 

“Wouldn’t want to mix us up,” Finn suggested drily.

 

“Wait, _what_?”

 

“This is my stop,” Finn said quickly, tugging on the yellow wire to dig for a requested stop and getting to his feet.  “ ‘Scuse me,” he grunted down at Poe, who swung his legs into the aisle and plucked up his backpack to let Finn escape.

 

“I think I missed something,” Poe stated, raising his voice a little as Finn waited for the doors to part.

 

“I think we both did,” Finn mumbled to himself and not looking back before hurling himself into the wall of cold, leaving Poe staring as the bus whisked away.

 

*****

 

“But you’re still meeting him for drinks tomorrow, right,” Rey pressed, chasing an elusive crouton around her bowl, not looking up as her friend heaved a sigh across the breakroom table.  When Finn had learned he and Rey were hired by the same high school as counselors, he’d been excited to have a friendly face at his first job; now he was starting to regret her overexposure to his life.

 

“You even have to ask,” Finn inquired blandly, running a hand down his face in exasperation.  “Of course I am.  He’s got this thing about him--,”

 

“Moth to a flame,” Rey proposed before hissing in victory and scooping the crunchy cube of bread into her mouth.

 

Finn scowled but said, “Cliché but something like that.”

 

“If you want to know what I think--,”

 

“I probably don’t,” Finn mentioned but Rey just rolled her eyes and went on,

 

“I think you need to talk to this Bastian guy.”

 

“Not if it was a choice between that and Chinese water torture,” Finn said promptly.

 

“Alright, Mr. Dramatic,” Rey teased, dropping her fork into the empty bowl and pushing them to the side so she could cross her arms on the tabletop.  “You’re telling me you’d rather work under the assumption that Poe has had this secret boyfriend for who knows how long than man up and ask what their deal is?”

 

“Maybe I’ll ask Poe tomorrow,” Finn countered, voice sounding weak and unconvincing even to his own ears.  Judging by Rey’s bland look, it wasn’t just him.

 

“Okay, we both know that’s never happening,” Rey said.  “Besides, if you go to Bastian you can size up the competition.  Totally a win-win.”

 

“You didn’t see them,” Finn huffed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.  “If it’s a competition, I lost it before I knew it.  Anyway, I don’t even know the guy.  What do you want me to do, stake out Poe’s apartment until Bastian comes out and then start interrogating him?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Rey shrugged as if it was obvious.  “It’s not like you’ve got anything else to do after work.”

 

“Jeez, thanks, love you too,” Finn drawled back.

 

“Which,” Rey continued, a little louder, “by the way, makes your excuse that you and Poe didn’t work out because you both were ‘too busy’ really flat.”

 

Finn shifted uncomfortably, gaze falling to his untouched sandwich.  “We were,” he refuted softly.  Rey’s hard expression melted slightly as she leaned onto her feet and reached across the table to squeeze Finn’s wrist.

 

“Sorry,” she said honestly.  Finn nodded with a jerk, patting Rey’s hand with his own.  “But think about it?  You deserve to know, okay?”

 

And with that statement resonating in his mind, Finn found himself doing one of the crazier things in his life, and Bastian found him dozing on the third-floor landing at nine o’clock that night.

 

Bastian blinked down at the other man, sitting cross-legged against the metal railing, dressed in soft-looking gray sweatpants and a fitted white sweater.  Bastian looked around, wondering if he was missing something, before deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth and reaching down to shake Finn’s shoulder.

 

“Huh?  Whu,” Finn mumbled, blinking at his surroundings before remembering and shooting to his feet, narrowly avoiding banging his head into Bastian’s face.

 

“Whoa, cool your jets, rocket man,” Bastian laughed, gripping Finn’s right bicep as the other man swayed unsteadily.  “No judgement, but do ya sleep here often?”

 

“What, no,” Finn stated, looking down at the hand that had a strong hold on him while he tried to think of an excuse.  “Uh, my—roommate.  My roommate…brought someone home,” he finished, inspiration striking.

 

Bastian whistled lowly in empathy.  “Sexiled, huh?  That’s rough, man.  And on a Thursday.  I mean, good on your roommate but seriously.  But hey, at least now we can do that beer,” he finished brightly, tugging Finn towards the door.

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Finn said, not believing his luck as he let Bastian guide him to Poe’s—their?—apartment.  “Uh, is—do you know if Poe’s there?”

 

Bastian grinned at that but said, “Sorry, he told me he had to work late.  Some colleague of his royally messed up a brief or a settlement or God knows what.  I don’t know shit about law, but whatever it is Poe’s got to fix it, like always.”

 

“Right, okay,” Finn nodded with a sigh of relief as Bastian finagled his key into the apartment door before opening it with his shoulder.  Bastian stepped to the side and gestured for Finn to go in first, and he did, shuffling his feet and standing uncertainly as the other man looped his keychain through the hook on the wall and shed his coat and scarf.

 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Bastian offered, kneeling to untie the laces of his boots and toss them into the coat closet.  Finn could’ve written a dissertation on the irony of that statement but instead walked over to the round table, waiting for Bastian to finish de-winterizing and head to the kitchen.  “So, I take it you’re not much of an IPA guy.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Well, you didn’t touch the stuff last night,” Bastian shrugged, squatting in front of the sink and pulling open the cabinet.  “He’s got a couple ciders and a pilsner that looks promising.”

 

“I’ll just have the same as you,” Finn said, and then felt his cheeks warm at how terribly the other man could take that.  But instead Bastian rose with two bottles and kicked the cabinet shut with a neutral expression.

 

“Normally I don’t drink the night before, but I can’t let you drink alone, can I,” Bastian asked jokingly, placing the bottles on the table and picking up the bottle opener that he’d left there the night before.  He popped open the caps efficiently, passing one to Finn with a flick of his wrist before taking a seat.  He waited a moment for Finn to take a sip before saying, “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.  I wanted to talk to you.”

 

Finn went still, feeling exactly like he was a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  “Yeah?  You do,” he asked, voice strained and tight.

 

Bastian nodded, still smiling openly but eyes looking a bit serious.  “Yeah.  About Poe.”

 

Finn cleared his throat once, then twice when the lump didn’t dissipate.  “Oh,” he said pointlessly, wondering why after getting this far he was starting to chicken out.  “Yeah.  Yeah, we probably should.”

 

Bastian tilted his head to the left, curious, but nodded again.  “Right, okay.  Well, Poe hasn’t really told me much, but he’s like that.  Likes to keep himself to himself, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” Finn agreed, wondering if the surreal feeling running down his spine was going to stop anytime soon.

 

Bastian snorted at that.  “I bet you have,” he replied, almost smugly.  “But he _did_ tell me you two had something going and then it just…stopped, for some reason.”

 

Finn goggled at the other man, no idea how he could be so calm and matter-of-fact about that.  “He…he told _you_ about that,” he gaped.

 

“Sure,” Bastian shrugged.  “And I know my opinion doesn’t really matter much, but I think maybe you two could give it another shot?  I can’t put my finger on it, but something about last night—are you okay?  You look like I just punched you in gut,” Bastian finished, looking concerned.

 

Feeling just like he’d been punched gut, Finn couldn’t do anything but gawk at the man sitting across from him.  The man who had waltz into his life and promptly threw him for a loop, the man who melded with Poe so well they could be two halves of a whole, the man who looked like he was seconds away from calling an ambulance if Finn didn’t do something soon.  “Are you screwing with me,” Finn gasped out finally, and Bastian leaned back.

 

“No?  No, why?  Seriously, are you feeling alright?”

 

“You— _you_ —think I should give Poe another shot,” Finn clarified, hands clenched into fists against his knees.

 

“Yeah,” Bastian drew out, looking dubious.  “Why are you saying it like that?”

 

“You, of all people,” Finn started again, just to be clear, “want _Poe_ and _me_ to try dating again?”

 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Bastian said slowly, “but I don’t know why you’re saying _me of all people_ like I’m somehow—oh shit,” he broke off with a hiss, eyes widening and his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.  Finn almost smiled, glad that the other man finally caught on.  “Poe—he told you,” Bastian whispered, looking around almost nervously, not meeting Finn’s gaze.

 

“Well, it was obvious,” Finn pointed out, and Bastian’s face blanched.  He took a large gulp of his beer, eyeing Finn with obvious trepidation.

 

“Really?  It is,” Bastian squeaked out, putting his beer down and then picking it up again immediately.

 

“Oh yeah.  Anyone who’s spent five seconds with you,” Finn began but trailed off at the look of fear set his way, and the man looked about ten years younger when he was scared.  “Sorry, I—I’m sorry.  I didn’t want to make this into a…confrontation or anything.  I’ve never done this before,” he explained quickly.

 

“Yeah, imagine how I feel,” Bastian mumbled, ducking his head.  Finn watched as the other man’s back expanded with a deep inhale, and then shoulders slumped with a harsh exhale.  “Right, so—so that’s out there,” he muttered to himself.

 

“I mean, you shouldn’t be ashamed of it,” Finn comforted awkwardly, not really sure why Bastian looked on edge about it.  The situation wasn’t exactly ideal, but at least they were on equal understanding now.  Why did Bastian look terrified?

 

“What else should I feel about it,” Bastian snapped, a hint of hysterics in his voice, before he took another deep breath.  More steadily, he said quietly, “Well, since you know, then you know why I want you and Poe to give it another go.”

 

“Uh, no, no, I don’t,” Finn said, shaking his head frantically.

 

“Because I— _can’t_ ,” Bastian ground out, “doesn’t mean I don’t want others to…to be happy.”

 

“You lost me,” Finn said, frowning.  “You mean you can’t--,”

 

“I _can’t_ ,” Bastian stressed, meeting Finn’s confused look with a hard look of his own, “but you could, if you wanted.”

 

Finn blinked rapidly before pinching the bridge of his nose and waiting for his head to stop spinning.  “Okay, okay—hold on,” he huffed, gathering his thoughts.  “So, you’re telling me that since you can’t—do it,” he emphasized, waiting for Bastian to nod before continuing, “you want Poe and me to…do it.”

 

“More or less, I guess,” Bastian shrugged, biting his bottom lip.  “Kind of a weird way of saying it, but that’s the general idea.”  

 

Finn stared across the table, jaw hanging slack, before shaking himself.  “Um, I—I need to think about...that but—uh, you know what?  Could you give Poe a message?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Bastian said instantly, sitting up straight as Finn got to his feet.

 

“Tell him—tell him I’ll meet him at Brando’s at seven tomorrow night,” Finn stated, nodding to himself as he tried to convince both of them that he meant it.

 

“Brando’s at seven,” Bastian repeated, watching as Finn backed towards the door.  “Any other message or…?”

 

“I’ll—we’ll talk tomorrow,” Finn stammered, reaching behind him to open the door while maintaining eye contact with the man seated at the table, the weight of déjà vu dropping onto his shoulders like a sack of bricks.  “It—I’m glad we talked.”

 

“Me too,” Bastian replied although he still looked a bit queasy, and Finn hesitated, one foot out the door.

 

“It’s—don’t be ashamed, okay?  It’s not your fault,” Finn pressed sincerely, and Bastian nodded jerkily with a grimace.  When no other thoughts or words came to mind, Finn offered a small wave and let himself out, being careful to close the door as gently as possible.

 

Bastian stared holes into the shut door for a while before sighing and pushing himself to his feet.  He trudged the short distance to the couch and collapsed face-down with a long groan, wishing something in him didn’t feel sore and achy.  He laced his fingers together behind his neck and laid there, taking deeper and deeper breaths until he had nearly soothed himself to sleep, only to jolt fully awake at the sound of a door clicking shut.

 

“Hey, long day of practice,” Poe asked with a tired, lazy smile as Bastian sat up and pressed himself against the back of the sofa, scanning the older man as he took of his winter gear.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Bastian answered, cringing at how morose he sounded.  Poe’s head whipped his direction, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Bastian’s face.

 

“What happened?  What’s wrong,” Poe questioned earnestly, leaving his scarf around his neck as he crossed quickly to the couch.  Bastian frowned down at the cushions, tapping his fingers against the upholstered wooden back.  Chilly fingers curved around his cheeks and urged him to look up into Poe’s worried face.  “Talk to me, Bas.”

 

“Why did you tell him,” Bastian choked out, eyes darting across Poe’s face as the older man’s brows drew together.

 

“Why did I tell who what, bud?”

 

“Finn, that I’m—not out,” Bastian mumbled.

 

There was a brief pause before Poe bent down to press his lips to Bastian’s forehead.  “Oh, Bas,” he sighed against the smooth skin.  “You know I would never do that.  _Never_.”

 

“But he knew,” Bastian countered with a sniff.  “He said it was obvious.”

 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Poe murmured, stroking his fingertips along Bastian’s shoulder.  “He’s very observant, used to looking for signals in body language and—I don’t know, Bas.  But I swear to you I never said a word about it, to anyone.  I respect your privacy too much to ever do that,” he finished with another kiss, this time against the crown of Bastian’s head as the other man wrapped his arms around Poe’s waist, pulling him closer so he could burrow his face into Poe’s button-up.  Poe adjusted his grip so he could pet his palm over the tight, narrow cornrows, letting Bastian hold him until some of the tension eased from his shoulders.

 

“Will he tell anyone,” Bastian asked softly.

 

“No,” Poe answered with certainty.  “I know Finn well enough to know he wouldn’t.”  Bastian nodded, accepting easily Poe’s words, which still gave Poe the warm feeling in his chest, even after all the years.  “When did you even talk to him?”

 

“Found him sleeping on the stairs,” Bastian responded, releasing his hold and sitting back on his heels, rubbing a fist across his eyes.

 

“What?  Why?”

 

“His roommate sexiled him,” Bastian shrugged.

 

“Finn doesn’t have a roommate,” Poe said, and Bastian’s head jerked up, surprised.

 

“He definitely said—wait, I think he was waiting for you.”

 

“By sleeping on the stairs,” Poe supplied, sounding unsure.

 

“Well, he told me to tell you he’d meet you at Brando’s at seven tomorrow.”

 

Poe choked and coughed at that.  “F-Finn said that?  _Finn_?  My height, serious expression, eyes that stare into your soul?”

 

“With a gaydar the military would patent if they could,” Bastian agreed.  “Why are you so surprised?  You talked to him on the bus, right?”

 

“Yeah, but it didn’t go _well_ ,” Poe snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.  “He stormed off—I don’t even know what I did.  I kinda figured I’d never hear a peep from him again.”

 

“Did you say something dumb?  You do that sometimes,” Bastian pointed out, not unkindly.

 

“Probably, but I spent three hours today trying to figure out _what_ , and I’m too exhausted to give you the rundown now,” Poe huffed, checking the time over Bastian’s shoulder on the cable box.  “I’m too tired to set up the pull-out.  Let’s just go to bed.  And don’t worry yourself about any of that stuff, okay?  You’ve got a game to focus on.”

 

“Yeah,” Bastian sighed, heaving himself over the back of the couch to his feet, Poe tossing an arm around his waist.  They ambled over to the bedroom, Poe turning off the overhead light as Bastian flipped on the bedroom light.  “Good news is, the coaches were impressed.”

 

“Of course they were,” Poe smiled warmly, hanging back while Bastian plucked his sleep pants from his open suitcase.  “You’re the best.”

 

“You have to say that, papi.”

 

“Anytime you want to cut out the dad jabs, feel free,” Poe drawled.

 

“But they’re so fun!”

 

*** 

 

“So, we can safely assume Poe’s not his father.”

 

“Rey, I swear to God I will end you--,”

 

“As if.  Run this arrangement thing by me again.”       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think that's everyone on different pages, right? I'm a little surprised at how smoothly that conversation between Finn and Bastian got mixed up...honestly, that wasn't even in my first draft.
> 
> Thank you thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos (and bookmarked, because wow) on the first chapter! You are all fantastic and mind-blowing :)


	3. Hold the Candle Close and See Which One of Us Gets Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! A bit of a shorter installment, but the next chapter is going to be pretty long.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Okay, Skywalker, pull it together,” Finn mumbled to himself, turning on his heel and pacing back, passing the dumpster and backdoor to the bar’s kitchen before spinning around and heading towards the sidewalk.  “You can do this.  It’s the right thing to do and you know it.  So,” he broke off with a huff, looking in the window and seeing the other man lounging at a two-seat table, eyes on the TV above the bar.  “Just get it over with,” he finished, squaring his shoulders and pulling open the door with too much force.

 

The wild tinkling of the bells on a leather strap attached to the inside handle drew Poe’s attention and he looked away from the screen, smiling when he took in who was approaching his table.  “Hey, buddy,” he greeted with warmth.

 

“Yeah, hi.  Sorry I kept you waiting,” Finn announced tightly.  Poe shrugged, slowly rotating the short glass of amber liquid on the wood table.

 

“You looked pretty busy when I got here,” Poe mentioned, jerking his head to the side, towards the brick wall bordering the alley.  Finn swallowed—loudly, he was sure—and sank down into the empty chair, limbs heavy with embarrassment.

 

“You saw that, huh?”

 

“Don’t worry about it.  Look, if this is stressing you out so much, we can talk some other time.  Or never, you know, if that’s what you prefer,” Poe added, although his expression made it clear he didn’t like that option.

 

That sounded ideal to Finn, but he couldn’t.  He had to do this.  For Bastian.  “No, we should have done this months ago,” Finn said instead, and the honesty of that statement was clear as Poe nodded accepting.  Poe opened his mouth, folding his hands together, but Finn jumped it with, “Can I start?”

 

Poe blinked at the determined look trained on him.  “Yeah, of course.  The floor is yours.”

 

Finn fought himself not to smile at the corny lawyer line because he won’t make it through if he let the man with his stupid curls and bright eyes distract him now.  “Bastian and I—spoke last night.”

 

“Yeah, you scared the hell out of him,” Poe interjected, a little hard, but Finn didn’t let himself dwell on it.

 

“I’m glad we did because he explained a lot to me,” Finn plowed on.

 

“You sure?  That doesn’t sound like Bastian to me,” Poe interrupted again, and Finn ground his teeth.

 

“You know he really cares about you, right,” Finn asked pointedly.

 

“Oh yeah.  He’s never kept _that_ a secret,” Poe answered, a little too glibly for Finn’s tastes.  Poe crossed his arms and smirked.  “Please tell me he didn’t talk your ear off with ‘One Hundred Reasons Poe’s Cool’ because he’s done that before and let me tell you, it didn’t help.”

 

“He—he’s helped you with _this_ before,” Finn gaped incredulously.

 

Poe cocked his right eyebrow curiously.  “Well, he’s known me a while…  And he’s never been good at keeping his nose out of my business.”

 

“ _Your business_?”  Just like that, Finn’s resolve was back, and he drew himself up in his seat, much to Poe’s obvious confusion.  “You seriously don’t think this has _anything_ to do with him?  Like he doesn’t _care_?”

 

“I mean, I—I guess I don’t think about it like that anymore,” Poe stammered, eyes darting around Finn’s face, looking for something.  “I—we haven’t lived together in years so--,”

 

“So it didn’t matter what he thought,” Finn finished angrily, and Poe winced back in shock.  “Do you have any idea how much it hurts him?”

 

“ _Hurts him_ ,” Poe repeated softly, hand coming up to cover his mouth, forehead creased in thought as Finn continued.

 

“Yes, _hurts him_.  Last night all he did was talk about how you and me should try…whatever the hell we had again, but the second I pressed it he crumbled like—like--,”

 

“Like he was terrified,” Poe suggested between his fingers, voice void of any discernible emotion.

 

“He looked petrified, Poe!  Like he was going to be sick.  I don’t care if you think the two of you have some kind of deal or arrangement or whatever, clearly it’s not okay for him.  And if you care about him about him even a smidge of what he obviously feels for you then you can’t do this.”

 

Finishing his prepared piece, and feeling very satisfied with himself, Finn sat back and waited expectantly.  He was anticipating some yelling, maybe even some cuss words thrown in even though he’s never heard the other man saying anything harsher than ‘hell,’ probably no pleading but he was steeled against the possibility just in case.  Instead, Poe continued to stare before dropping his hand from his face, picking up his drink, and downing the burning liquid in one gulp.  “Finn, I’m going to ask you something and I would appreciate it if you humored me,” he said, voice almost inaudible over the sound of the hockey game getting underway on the TV on the wall.

 

“Um,” Finn hummed, not sure he really wanted to promise anything.  At the same time…  “Sure,” he nodded once.

 

“Thanks,” Poe grunted, not sounding very thankful.  “If you don’t mind, could you explain to me—like I’m a four-year-old—what you think is going on with Bastian and I?”

 

If there was one thing Finn didn’t shoulder well, it was that sickly patronizing tone.  Bristles up, he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth in irritation before saying, “You and Bastian are together.  But, because he _can’t_ have sex or doesn’t want to or it’s just not in his make-up, you get to go out and find someone else to fuck—sorry, forgot that little ears were listening,” he drawled, rolling his eyes.  “You have the _luxury_ of finding someone else for _hot cuddles_ while Bastian sits on the side, waiting for you to find your way back, and it’s killing him.”

 

“ _Hot cuddles_ ,” Finn heard someone at the table behind him mumble, but he was completely entranced by the surprisingly blank look drilling into him.

 

“Well.  You and your brain had a very interesting conversation last night,” Poe rumbled lowly.  “I guess that leaves me with one last question,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, gaze darting over to the television before turning sad eyes on a suddenly nervous Finn.  “You’ve known me for over a year, as friends and more.  Do you seriously believe I would do something like that, to Bastian or to you?”

 

For the first time since he’d sat down, Finn hesitated.  Because…the answer _should_ have been no; no, Finn didn’t believe Poe would do it.  He didn’t believe Poe would lead him on, didn’t believe Poe would ignore someone’s feelings for his own, and didn’t believe Poe would sit across from him, looking stricken and doleful, pretending he didn’t know what Finn was talking about.  But he was and he had, and what reasons would Bastian have for lying?  A quick flash of Bastian—could have been a scared child, his eyes so wide and unwavering—as he choked out ‘ _can’t_ ’ crossed Finn’s mind and the resolve returned, double fold.  “Yeah,” he managed gruffly.  “Yeah, I do.”

 

Poe remained still for a long, tense moment before he tapped his empty glass against the tabletop with a muted thud that sounded like a gunshot to Finn, who jumped in surprise.  “I guess that’s that,” Poe mumbled to himself, getting to his feet, the legs of his chair squeaking loudly against the floor as it was pushed back.  He looked like he wanted to say something else as his eyes drilled into Finn, but he shook his head, swiped the glass off the table and headed to the bar to return it.

 

“Thanks,” the bartender said distracted as Poe slid the tumbler over.  “You hear about this young defenseman the Hawks picked up?  Making him sound like the messiah.”

 

Poe glanced up at the screen, the camera zoomed in on Bastian’s profile now with a black helmet and bright red jersey, out on the ice for a defensive end face-off.  Poe’s lips quirked up slightly at the determination and confidence that only appeared when the man was on the ice.  “Just wait,” he said, clearing his throat as the bartender turned his attention to him.  “He’s gonna be the best puck-moving defenseman in the conference.”

 

“How do you know,” the bartender asked, smiling in confusion.

 

“Because he told me,” Poe nodded, hearing the bells toll behind him and knowing Finn was gone.

 

***

 

Poe was nursing his third neat whiskey when the door opened with a bright, manic laugh, and he knew the game was over.

 

“Dude!  That was insane!  Like, I haven’t skated that fast since the World Juniors!  Did you see the breakaway? Man, I thought I was toasted!  Might even make the highlights, except—do ya have any hot chocolate?”

 

Poe hummed, watching his whiskey slosh left to right as he tilted his hand.  “Forgot to buy some, buddy.”

 

“Eh, no problem.  It’s whatever,” Bastian shrugged, finishing hanging his coat and scarf on a hanger before bending down to take off his boots.  “Seriously, though, what did you think?  I mean, it wasn’t the best game of my career, but I didn’t screw up, right?”

 

Poe took a gulp, letting the burn settle against his tongue and teeth before swallowing.  “I’m sorry, Bas, I missed it.”

 

“Oh,” Bastian said softly, closing the closet with a click before remembering.  “Oh right!  The meeting at Brando’s—how’d it go?”

 

Poe didn’t reply as the younger man waltzed over to the couch, clearly on cloud nine.  Bastian tapped Poe’s foot, and Poe lifted his legs, ankles crossed, so Bastian could plop down, letting the older man’s feet settle in his lap.  “Good news,” Poe began, trying to sound chipper, and judging by Bastian’s big smile, it worked, “Finn doesn’t know you’re in the closet.”

 

Bastian blinked as the information sank in before awkwardly launching himself into Poe’s chest.  “Really?  You mean it?  Seriously,” he blubbered into Poe’s soft blue and white flannel.

 

Poe snorted softly, bending his knees to tuck against the back of Bastian’s thighs and curling his free arm around the younger man’s shoulders.  “Yeah.  He doesn’t have a clue.”

 

Bastian’s hands clenched into fists around Poe’s shirt to keep them from shaking.  “Thank God,” he breathed out in relief.  “He scared the shit outta me last—wait.”  His head popped up, almost nose to nose with Poe, who turned his face to the side to take another sip of his drink.  “What the hell was he talking about last night?!”

 

“Ah,” Poe exhaled heavily, twisting to put his almost empty glass on the end table behind him.  “Well, bud,” he sighed, his other arm draping across Bastian’s broad shoulders.  “Apparently, we’re dating, you don’t or can’t have sex, and I’m breaking your heart by pursuing Finn.  But,” Poe plowed on as Bastian’s jaw dropped, “you’re being a real trooper about it.  Really, selfless and a martyr, trying to build me up so I can be happy with someone else.  I should buy you some daffodils, but I’m so self-absorbed I probably won’t.”

 

“Holy fuck,” Bastian gasped before laughing brightly.  “Holy _f-fuck_!  Oh m-my God, I w-wish I s-saw your face!  No, no,” he backtracked quickly, pressing his hands flat against Poe’s pecs and levelling himself up to gaze down at the older man, who huffed at the weight, “I wish I saw _Finn’s_ face when you told him.  Go on, what did he say?”  Poe blinked up, his head propped against the arm of the couch, and Bastian’s smile drooped.  “Come on, Poe,” he said, a little desperately, shifting to bracket Poe’s hips with his knees.  “Come on.  What did he say when you told him?”

 

“Bas,” Poe started, stoic, and didn’t get any farther as the younger man growled in the back of his throat and scrambled to his feet.

 

“No!  No, you promised--,”

 

“Listen to me,” Poe plead, sitting up as Bastian began pacing in front of the TV stand.  “Bas--,”

 

“You _promised_ I’d never be the reason,” Bastian snapped, glaring at the man sitting slumped on the couch.  “You said I’d never be the reason you missed out _again_.”

 

“You were never the reason before,” Poe countered tiredly, dragging a hand down his face.  “What did you want me to do?”

 

“Tell.  Him.  The.  Truth,” Bastian ground out between his teeth.  “Why didn’t you say anything when he was accusing you of—of—fuck, Poe why didn’t you say _anything_?”  

 

“He believed that shit, Bas!  He sat there and told me he believed I would do that.”

 

“But it’s not true!”

 

“Yeah, I know that,” Poe drawled, getting to his feet and moving to cut off Bastian as he rounded the coffee table.  “But if Finn believes that’s who I am…it wouldn’t matter if he found out I was nursing orphans in my spare time.  There’s no coming back from that, Bas.”

 

“Yes, there is, because it’s all lies,” Bastian stressed, trying to dodge around but Poe held him in place with a firm grip on the younger man’s biceps.

 

“And where should I start explaining that, huh?  ‘No, Finn, Bastian looked like he was about to throw up because he’s not out and thought you knew’?”

 

Bastian groaned, dropping his head back.  After a second of thought he dropped his chin to his chest, piercing Poe with a stare.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  “That would’ve been a good place to start.”

 

“No, of course not,” Poe murmured back, lifting his left hand to cradle Bastian’s right cheek.  “I would never.”

 

“I could,” Bastian mumbled, and quickly the soft hold on his face switched to a hard grasp on his chin.

 

“No, you won’t,” Poe ordered firmly.  “You’re going to take a shower while I go get some hot chocolate.  Then we’ll find the highlights on YouTube and you’ll tell me everything.”

 

“But--,”

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Poe shook his head once, and Bastian felt the heavy weight of déjà vu at Poe’s fixed look, like the first time Bastian missed curfew.  “Go, and keep your fingers crossed there’s somewhere still open that sells your white hot chocolate.”  Bastian didn’t move, and Poe frowned before pushing the younger man back, towards the bedroom.  “One of us should have a good Friday night.  Go on, bud.”

 

And Bastian knew better than to try and argue with a wheeling Poe, and bowed his head in acceptance.  Poe, sensing the win, turned the younger man by his hips and urging him forward.  With slow, trudging steps, Bastian went to the bedroom, Poe shadowing him, making sure the younger man grabbed his sweatpants and Minnesota Golden Gophers t-shirt from the foot of the bed and headed for the bathroom before moving quickly to the front door.  If he was quick, he could be back before Bastian was done.

 

Bastian flicked on the light, dropping his change of clothes on the closed toilet seat, listening to the sound of one door closing, then another as Poe left.  Groaning and rolling his head to the side to crack his neck, he looked around, noticing the small, waterproof boombox on and paused next to the sink, and the damp towel hanging over the curtain rail.  Curious, Bastian pressed the play button and

 

_I don’t wanna lose you now_

_I promise I'll make it better and I better_

 

“Fuck it,” Bastian mumbled to himself, spinning on his heel and marching back, just remembering to shove on an old pair of Poe’s sneakers and to grab his keys and wallet before hurrying out into the hallway, bounding down the stairs, and skidding to a halt in front of the mailboxes.

 

First initial, last name. 

 

Unhelpful.

 

Bastian tilted his head to the right, considering.  He knew Finn didn’t have a roommate.  That narrows it down to single names, that start with F.  How many of those could there be?

 

Three.  There were three.  F. Ramírez.  F. Skywalker.  F. Larson.

 

Mouthing the apartment numbers to himself, like a chant, he raced back up the stairs, to the fourth floor, heading down the hall to the left until he noticed the door numbers were going up and he went back, thinking it was too damn late for this shit and he’d had a long day and maybe Poe was right because a shower sounded _really_ good right now…

 

But he knocked thrice on the door of 404 all the same, plastering a bracing smile on his face as he heard the lock click open.

 

“Can I help you,” asked a woman with caramel skin and wide gray eyes, hair twisted into a bun and hands shoved into the pockets of an oversized hoodie.

 

“Sorry, um, F Ramírez?”

 

“That’s me,” the woman nodded, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.  “Frida, if ya want to know.”

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Bastian stammered, “Frida.  I’m looking for this guy Finn and--,”

 

“Oh, him.  He’s cool, helped me carry my new couch up the stairs.”

 

“Yeah, that’s him,” Bastian nodded hopefully.  “Do you know if he’s in 411 or 512?”

 

“Depends.  Are you planning on killing him,” she asked deadpan.

 

“Nope.  No killings of any kind,” Bastian reassured, holding out his hands, palms up in what he hoped was a placating manner.  Frida gave him another once-over before shrugging and saying,

 

“Four-eleven,” and closing the door.

 

“Thanks,” he called through the barrier before cantering to the named apartment while his heartbeat accelerated.  Why this of all things made him nervous was beyond him; it’s not like he’s never done something mildly mortifying before.  Hell, most of his life off the ice was just one stupid, embarrassment after another.  This—this should be a piece of cake.  Just telling some stranger something he’d only told two other people in the world.  No big deal.

 

Three quick knocks and then Bastian was faced with another young woman, this one training a suspicious look on him with narrowed brown eyes.  “What do you want?”

 

“I’m Bastian,” he began, breaking off as the woman in front of him gasped and an almost-familiar male voice said ‘ _what_ ’ from inside.  “And I’ll bet you’ve heard some stuff about me the last couple of day,” he went on with a short laugh that sounded a bit too high even to him.  “If Finn doesn’t mind, I’d like to set a few things straight.”

 

“Bastian,” Finn sighed, appearing behind the woman with a mournful look on his face, “you don’t have to do this.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bastian agreed, shifting his weight.  “But there’s this story, and I think you need to hear it.  And your friend, if that’s how this is gonna go down.”

 

***

 

“Well, no luck on the white hot chocolate,” Poe announced, hooking up his keys and kicking off his boots as the door closed behind him.  “You’ll have to settle for daffodils and Swiss Miss.”

 

A throat cleared, and Poe’s head snapped towards his living room, eyes bugging out as Finn slowly got to his feet, arms hugged loosely around his waist.

 

“What the fuck,” Poe breathed, frozen with his coat off one shoulder.

 

“I,” Finn rasped before clearing his throat again, gaze drifting to the right of Poe’s incredulous face.  “I think it’s time I listened.”

 

“Where’s Bas?”            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to every single reader who has left a comment or kudos on the last chapter! You are all magnificent and I'm so awed! I was a little nervous posting the first chapter because it wasn't like my other stories, but the reactions from the readers have really given me such a boost.
> 
> Next Up: What's Poe' and Bastian's story?


	4. Let's Start a Fire and Burn Up All the Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much longer chapter this time around.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

“Excuse me,” came an excessively polite, deep voice over Bastian’s shoulder.  Bastian twisted to look over the man standing by the red pleather-covered stool next to Bastian’s at the diner counter, dressed in a charcoal gray suit, lavender tie, and an unbuttoned camel overcoat.  “May I sit here?”

 

Bastian bit his tongue, the tip peeking between his lips as he looked around the well-lit albeit mostly empty diner.  “Uh, sure,” he drew out, blinking as the man slipped off his coat and folded it over another stool.  “Should I—move?”

 

The man blinked owlishly behind his tortoise-rimmed glasses, blue-green eyes curved down giving him a naturally soulful expression that Bastian found weirdly comforting.  “My apologies, I should have been more clear,” the man said with a soft smile.  “May I join you?”

 

“Oh.”  Bastian watched as the man waited, respectfully, for an answer.  “Yeah.  Definitely,” he found himself saying.

 

“Thank you,” the man answered, smile widening, and Bastian caught a glimpse of white teeth.  The man settled, smoothing his hand along his trimmed blond and gray van dyke beard—Bastian almost wanted to pull on it to see if it was real because he’d never seen a beard like that outside of the movies.  “I hope I’m not intruding on your evening.”

 

“Please, I’ve already intruded on my own evening,” Bastian dismissed with a roll of his eyes, nodding his thanks as a waiter who slid his vanilla milkshake in front of him.

 

“Wanna see a menu,” the waiter asked the man, who shook his head in a manner Bastian would almost call kind.

 

“That’s not necessary.  A turkey club and a glass of milk, if you please.”

 

“Coming right up,” the waiter nodded, moving over to the window to the kitchen with a little stutter-step.

 

“Milk,” Bastian questioned, mostly just to keep the conversation going but also with genuine curiosity.  The man inclined his head in a brief nod before eyeing Bastian’s drink of choice.

 

“I’m not certain you have much of a leg to stand on, criticizing milk,” the man mentioned, with a hint of teasing that Bastian discovered he enjoyed.

 

“Yeah, but a milkshake is clearly the adult of milk-based drinks,” Bastian joked back before taking an exaggerated slurp, the effect of which was lost because it took him three long inhales to coax the thick liquid into his mouth.

 

The man waited for Bastian to succeed before saying, “I believe the white Russian holds that particular honor.”

 

“Who’s the White Russian,” Bastian asked, and the man blinked at him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 

“No, it is not a _who_ ,” the man corrected, voice shaking and a toothy smile appearing.  Bastian turned his body to bask more easily in the obvious mirth.  “I take it you are not much of a drinker?”

 

Bastian grimaced slightly, because he wasn’t sure he really wanted to give the full and honest answer to that.  What if it ruined—whatever the cozy, warm thing that settled around him was?  “I mostly stick to beer,” he replied, in complete honesty if not full disclosure.

 

“I see,” the man chuckled, eyes scanning Bastian’s form quickly before meeting his gaze again.  “Vodka, coffee liquor, and cream.”

 

It took Bastian too long to figure out what the man was talking about, but he blamed that on the strangely fond look trained on him.  “Oh.  That sounds…awful,” he said, and the man laughed throatily, ducking his head.

 

“I agree, but I’ve heard some misguided souls enjoy it.”

 

There was a small moment of suspended silence as the waiter returned with the man’s tall glass of milk and a straw, which Bastian thought was strange.  Clearly the other man thought so too, as he picked it up with a confused frown before setting it to the side and taking a small sip of his drink.

 

“So, what brings you out tonight?  Hot date ended late,” Bastian ventured, glancing at the suit again.

 

The man chuckled again, that hoarse, rumble of amusement Bastian had never heard for anyone before.  “Hardly.  I went to a delightful performance of _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_ , and it ran a bit long.”

 

“I don’t—is that a play,” Bastian asked uncertain, worried he’d just hit a wall he couldn’t climb.  Of course this man would be an intellectual, and Bastian hadn’t read a book that wasn’t for an assignment since…the last time Poe bought him one.

 

“Indeed.  I take it you’re not a theatre man,” the man inquired without any blatant sign of judgement.

 

“I’m not an anything man,” Bastian answered honestly, thinking it had been nice while it lasted, but the man hummed skeptically.

 

“Now that I don’t believe.  I’m certain you have an intriguing story to why you are sitting here at this hour.”

 

Bastian blinked in surprise.  “What makes you think that?”

 

“Call it intuition,” the man shrugged lightly.  Bastian continued to stare at him, and the man added, “And the keen observation that you do not have a coat and it is negative-ten outside tonight.”

 

Bastian ducked his head, not sure why that statement made his stomach flutter.  “Oh, right.  I forgot it,” he answered to his knees.  Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the other man tap his fingers against the counter.

 

“As I said, intriguing,” the man prompted softly.  Bastian saw the hand move out of sight and glanced up to see his milkshake being slid closer to him, the stranger smiling again.  “Why don’t you tell me about it.”

 

“What, are you one of those barstool psychiatrists, like on TV,” Bastian asked with a forced laugh, even though he did accept his drink, fingers brushing slightly against the man’s as the other’s withdrew to cup his chin and look at Bastian curiously.

 

“Yes, although all I can prescribe are milkshakes,” he replied with amusement.  “You could also tell me to mind my own affairs and leave you be.”

 

That wasn’t even slightly okay to Bastian.  “I’m hoping my friend is reuniting with his lost love, and I left to give them time to get their heads out of their asses,” he said in a rush.

 

The man’s eyes widened behind his glasses.  “That…is very good of you,” he offered but Bastian grimaced around the straw in his mouth, swallowing before he responded.       

 

“Not really.  I’ve basically ruined his life since he met me…I owe him at least this much.”

 

“That’s not a nice thing for your friend to say,” the man mentioned, sounding disapproving, which made Bastian’s stomach do that weird flip again.

 

“He’d never _say_ it—actually he’d be more likely to say I’m one of the best things that happened to him--,”

 

“Yes, that I can believe,” the man murmured, too quietly for Bastian to be sure he caught it right.

 

“—but I know,” he finished with a shrug.  “I mean, how many seventeen-year-old guys would--,”

 

...

**“It was my dad’s idea,”** Poe sighed, sitting sprawled in his armchair, the glass of whiskey he’d abandoned earlier balanced between his palms and his stomach, not making eye contact with Finn who was sitting upright on the edge of the couch, arms still wrapped around himself, “which should tell you all you need to know about my dad,” he finished with a snort.

 

_“Just give it the weekend,” Kes coaxed glancing at his son sprawled in the passenger seat of the old, beat-up pick-up truck.  Poe rolled his eyes to shoot a dark look at his father before going back to sulking.  “Sabine tells me he’s a very nice kid.”_

_“Dad, I’m not allowed to have a cat,” Poe spat out, the first words he’d spoken since they’d started the drive.  “But you want me to adopt a baby.”_

_“Bastian is seven,” Kes corrected, which wasn’t much of an argument, and Poe scoffed to show he knew it.  “And we’re hardly asking you to adopt him.”_

_“No,” Poe ground out through his teeth.  “Just live with him, feed him, drive him places, kiss his boo-boos--,”_

_“That’s enough,” Kes cut in firmly, although he didn’t have any idea what to add.  His son, sensing the win, smirked and jerked up his chin defiantly._

_“He’ll probably die and--,”_

_“None of that,” Kes snapped, grip tightening around the steering wheel, hating that Poe knew exactly which buttons to press.  He took five deep breaths before going on, “This is a good arrangement for you, for us.”_

_“The scholarship--,”_

_“—doesn’t cover housing,” Kes finished, already tired of this argument.  “And you know how proud I am of you--,”_

_“Got a funny way of showing it,” Poe muttered moodily._

_“This would give you a place to live, not far from campus,” Kes continued.  “Sabine would of course pay for food and upkeep.  And how many teenagers can say they have a house?”_

_“A house with a baby attached to it.”_

_“Just—give it a chance,” Kes urged, not meeting Poe’s scowl.  “It’s just one weekend.”_

**“I could tell he hated me,”** Bastian said, nodding his thanks to the waiter who placed a plate piled high with hot, greasy fries in front of him and missing the appalled look that crossed his sole audience member’s face.  “But I didn’t let that get to me.  Mom said he was our last hope.  If this arrangement didn’t work out, she’d have to move me in with her sister in Jersey, and there was no way I was leaving my friends and my team.  And if that meant I had to charm this guy who looked like he’d rather be in a snake pit than eating mac n cheese with me…well, that’s what I was gonna do.  Except I guess no one mentioned one little thing to him.”

 

_Bastian checked the clock on the oven again, nervously tapping his toes against the legs of the kitchen chair._

 

_5:25._

 

_If they didn’t leave by 5:45 they’d never make it to the rink before game time.  That’s what his dad had always said before…before.  But Poe wasn’t even awake yet._

 

_Bastian glanced at his gear packed and piled next to the door and then down the short hallway to the two bedrooms.  No light, no sounds from behind the shut door.  Not even snoring, which was nice because his dad had always snored really loudly and kept Bastian up.  But it had been so quiet that Bastian had peeked in earlier to make sure the teen hadn’t snuck away in the night._

_He hadn’t, but he also wasn’t waking up any time soon._

_And that left Bastian at a bit of a dead end.  He wanted Poe to like him, and waking him up to go to the rink probably wouldn’t help.  But he also_ needed _to get to the rink or else he’d miss the first game and let down his team, and he’d never let down anyone before._

_Bastian’s eyes drifted over to the coffee machine, and he tilted his head, considering.  He’d seen his mom and dad make it enough times…how hard could it be?_

_Which was how Poe woke up to the smell of burning shoved into his face._

_“I made coffee,” chirped a too-awake, high-pitched voice._

_“Huh,” Poe grunted, blinking wildly to locate where he was as he propped himself up on his elbows.  “Wha th’ hell?”_

 

_“That’s a naughty word,” came a comically stern answer that had Poe turning to stare down at the child standing at the side of the bed, dressed in a coat, scarf, hat, and little black boots, holding a blue thermos with no lid out to Poe with a nervous smile.  “But I made you coffee.”_

 

_“Kid, what time is it,” Poe groaned, flopping back into the pillows that had taken him nearly half an hour to arrange comfortably.  He hated sleeping in strange beds._

_“Five-thirty,” was the far-too chipper response, and Poe had to bite back a number of cusses that sprung to mind because he was pretty sure if the kid started dropping ‘motherfucker’s Poe would be the one on the chopping block._

_“Five-thirty, on a Saturday,” Poe grumbled, draping an arm over his eyes.  “Go back to bed, squirt.”_

_“No!  We have to go!”_

_“Where’s the fire,” Poe asked, already starting to drift off again._

_“There isn’t one, but--,”_

_“Then we’re not going nowhere,” Poe snapped, lip curling into a snarl, one eye bloodshot from sleep peeking over at Bastian, who took a step back with a gulp._

_“But the tournament,” Bastian pressed nervously.  “We won’t make it.”_

_“What are you mumbling about,” Poe huffed, figuring out the child wasn’t going to leave without telling him about whatever the hell was bugging him._

_“We have to leave for the rink or I’ll be late for the first game,” Bastian explained, feeling a little hopeful now that Poe seemed to be listening to him._

_“No one said anything about games,” Poe said darkly, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eyes.  “Looks like you’re gonna miss it.  Go back to bed.”_

_“No!”_

_“I’m not driving you anywhere at five in the morning,” Poe stated, hiking the blankets up to his shoulders.  “So unless you can walk to this rink, you’re outta luck.”_

_Bastian bit his bottom lip, fighting back the weight building behind his eyes.  He couldn’t miss it; he’d never missed a game, not even when he was sick last year.  He looked down at the coffee that hadn’t fixed anything, wracking his mind for something he could use to get the teen to help him.  And he had nothing, except…  “If you take me,” Bastian said slowly, “I’ll tell my mom we didn’t get along and you won’t have to live here.”_

_Poe froze, halfway between turning his back on the annoying kid who still hadn’t left the room.  “What did you say,” he asked hesitantly._

_“If you take me to the rink now, you won’t have to live with me anymore,” Bastian repeated, eyes still on the thermos in his hands.  For a long moment there was nothing, and Bastian gave up, starting to drag himself out of the dark room._

_“You said something ‘bout coffee?”_

_Bastian’s head snapped up, jaw dropping in amazement as he saw Poe climb out of the bed and pick up a pair of jeans from the floor.  The teen shot him a look, one brow cocked up as he stepped into his pants and pulled them over his boxers, zipping and buttoning the fly before Bastian realized what was happening.  “Here,” he offered, holding up the thermos as Poe stripped off his thin t-shirt and pulled his senior sweatshirt over his head._

_“Cool,” Poe muttered, pulling the hood up and then picking up his wallet and the keys from the bedside table before crossing over to the kid and swiping the offered object.  He eyed it dubiously before taking a swig, instantly choking on it._

_“Is it okay?  I think I did it right; it’s strong, right?”_

_“Black as tar and just as tasty,” Poe rasped out, grimacing as he tried to swallow the mouthful of grounds._

_“Is that good,” Bastian asked innocently, and Poe turned to tell him exactly how not-good it was but…but the kid was looking up at him with a weirdly sad but hopeful expression._

_“Yeah, it’s great,” he found himself saying instead, and he tried to ignore the happy babbling that incited as the kid grabbed his hand and started tugging him out of the room, saying something about county-wide finals._

**“I didn’t find out til later that he’d basically bargained his life away,”** Poe said, setting his now empty glass on the coffee table beside his propped-up feet, grinding his teeth at the memory.  “His mother had told him if it didn’t work out with me they’d have to move.  But Bas—hockey was all he had, you know?  His dad had just died, his mother was on the road about three hundred days a year.  He put everything he had into his little hockey team and he’d rather lose everything than let them down.  That’s who he was, is, hopefully always will be, even if it’s kinda selfish of me to wish that on him.”  Finn shook his head wordlessly, but Poe nodded in opposition.  “Yes, it is.  Everything you thought I was back at the bar…that’s exactly who I could’ve been, if it wasn’t for Bastian.”

_“Well now, it’s been a while since we’ve had any fresh blood around here.”_

_“What,” Poe asked blankly, looking over as a blond woman sat down next to him on the cold metal bleacher, bundled in a quilted coat, gloves, and one of those earmuff headbands that Poe eyed enviously as he hugged his arms tighter around his chest._

_“Here, dear,” she said, holding out a pair of hot pink gloves.  “You’ll get used to it.  Which one belongs to you?”_

_Poe didn’t think twice before snatching the gloves and shoving his hands into the fleeced interiors.  “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” he said, cracking a smile for the first time since his dad had dropped the bomb.  “I’m Poe.”_

_“Connie,” the woman replied with a warm smile of her own before jerking her head at the ice where kids wearing tiny knives on their feet and shoulder pads probably taller than them were circled up and stretching.  “So, which one is yours?”_

_“I drove Bastian,” Poe answered, making a move to point out who that was except he didn’t know the kid’s number, didn’t even know if he was in blue or green._

_“Oh good!  I’m so glad he’s here,” Connie beamed.  “We were worried when Sabine said she was hitting the road Friday night that he might not make it.  Evelyn was going to swing by the house to see if he needed a ride, but then she was running late…”_

_Poe didn’t know what to do with that information, so he just shrugged as a whistle pierced the peaceful silence, and both groups of children started to skate their over to their respective benches.  One little girl with blond braided pigtails and a blue jersey waved over, and Connie waved back before shooting two thumbs up.  Behind the girl skated Bastian, not looking up at the bleachers as he stumbled from the ice to the bench.  Feeling something like guilt pinch between his ribs, Poe crossed his arms again and frowned down at the small blue backpack that Bastian had thrust into his hands earlier before taking off for the changing rooms with a large black duffle bigger than him thrown across his back._

_“How do you like your coffee, dear?”_

_“Uh,” Poe blinked as Connie pulled a cellphone out of her overpacked purse._

_“Don’t worry about it.  It’s Karen’s turn to buy, and it’s impossible to get through one of these all-day tournaments without coffee,” Connie confided, flipping open the phone and starting to dial.  “You’ll get used to it.  So what’ll you have?”_

**“And I won’t lie, I was pretty sure he was going to leave,”** Bastian continued with a small laugh as he remembered, the other man frowning faintly in censure.  “I mean, he’d driven me there so I figured that was the end of it.  I didn’t even look into the stands for the first game because…well, I kinda got used to not having anyone there.  It wasn’t until we had our first break and everyone else was going to their parents for their snacks—and I remembered I’d given him that bag and I thought maybe he’d left it somewhere before taking off…”

 

_“There you are,” Mrs. Spencer chimed as Bastian made his way up the bleachers’ steps.  “Poe was wondering where you went.”_

_“What,” Bastian asked blankly, one hand on the railing as his eyes scanned from Lizzy’s mom to Poe, sitting next to her with his backpack in his lap._

_“Apparently it’s snack time,” the teen said, sending a small smile Bastian’s way, which left Bastian blinking in confusion until he realized.  Poe was acting, like Bastian’s mom did when she told everyone everything was great and it wasn’t.  Poe probably didn’t want the other adults to know everything wasn’t great either, so Bastian had better play along._

_“Yeah,” Bastian nodded, sending Poe a look to let him know he’d caught on.  But the teen didn’t look like he’d understood it as he unzipped the small backpack and took out the banana and juice box Bastian had packed in there the night before.  “Thank you,” he mumbled, taking both and starting to turn to make his way down the stairs._

_“Where are you going,” Lizzy asked, looking around her mom, with a mouth full of granola.  “Sit with us.”_

_“Actually, Bastian and I are going to—take a walk,” Poe said, closing the bag quickly and getting to his feet, tossing the little bag over his shoulder and moving to join Bastian on the steps.  “Come on, kid,” Poe murmured softly, hand between Bastian’s shoulder pads and urging him along.  Completely lost, Bastian let himself be led down the bleachers and then away from the rink, towards the squishy, plastic floored corridor between rinks.  Poe guided him over to a bench next to the glass doors to the parking lot, and Bastian hopped up to sit, his snack hugged to his chest._

_“I’m sorry,” Bastian said instantly as Poe lowered himself to sit next to him._

_“For what,” Poe asked frowning.  And Bastian didn’t know so he just shrugged and looked down at his swinging feet, still in his skates but with the bright red blade covers in place.  Sighing, Poe placed a hand on Bastian’s head.  “So, this is kinda important to you, huh?”_

_“I like hockey,” Bastian said into his chest, bulked out with protective equipment._

_Poe nodded, looking around at the other kids wandering around, ranging from Bastian’s age to a bit younger, either walking in groups or with their parents.  And then there was Bastian, who had to bribe someone he didn’t even know into getting him here.  “Well, you looked good out there,” Poe said, swallowing tightly around a lump that suddenly appeared in his throat._

_“You—you watched?”_

_And that actually hurt, like a stab to the heart, and Poe looked down at the kid who had his wide eyes trained on him.  “Yeah, I did.  The moms had to explain most of it to me.  I’m not exactly sporty,” he confided with a little laugh._

_“I—are you going to stay for the next one?”_

_“I’m going to stay for all of them,” Poe replied, a concerning thought occurring to him for the first time.  “You know I wasn’t going to abandon you here, right?”_

_Judging by the overjoyed face, Bastian hadn’t known that at all, but Poe didn’t get a chance to combat that as the kid said excitedly, “I’m going to score a goal.  And then we’ll go to the finals and we’re going to win.”_

_“Yeah?  Sounds like a plan,” Poe nodded with a smile that felt a little shaky as he sniffed.  “Eat up.  You’ll need your strength for all that.  I noticed you packed two sandwiches,” he continued as Bastian set to work peeling his banana, the juice box nestled between his knees.  “Is one of those for me?”_

_“Yeah, duh,” Bastian answered, rolling his eyes, before he thought of something.  “You’re not allergic to peanut butter, right?  Cause we didn’t have anything else and--,”_

_“It’s fine,” Poe interrupted, because even though he was allergic to peanuts he’d rather risk it than tell the kid that.  He was still trying to make up for being a jerk while the whole time Bastian had, for some reason, been thinking about making Poe happy.  “But what if I take over the lunch-making job?”_

_Bastian frowned.  “There’s no game tomorrow.”_

_“So what,” Poe asked, not following._

_“So you don’t have to do anything.  We made a deal, ‘member?”_

_Poe couldn’t come up with an answer to that and instead slung an arm over Bastian’s hard plastic-padded shoulders and the pair sat in silence as the younger one finished his snack and started on his juice and the older one listened to cheering from the other games going on in the iceplex._

_“Bas, come on,” called another boy in a blue jersey, waving Bastian over.  Bastian bounced to his feet, his trash in his hands, looking around for the trashcan._

_“Here, I’ve got it,” Poe said, taking the banana peel and squished, deflated juice box.  “Go warm up or whatever.”_

_“And you’re really going to watch,” Bastian pressed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a feat Poe was overly impressed by since it required miraculously balancing on thin blades one foot at a time and Poe couldn’t even imagine how he’d manage it._

_“I’ll be there, with Barbie pink hands,” Poe added jokingly, doing one-handed spirit fingers, and Bastian giggled, mimicking the gesture with his small hands before hurrying off._

_By the time Poe took his seat again, next to Connie, behind Karen and Vicki and in front of Gina and Evelyn, Rachel and Anne nodding over to him with friendliness, Bastian’s team was back on the ice, doing some kind of passing drill._

_“Everything okay,” Connie asked nicely, and Poe nodded._

_“Yeah, he’s good.  Told me he’s going to score a goal.”_

_The moms tittered and exchanged knowing looks.  “That sounds like the Bastian we know,” Gina said, sounding almost satisfied._

_“But if he doesn’t, don’t let him get discouraged,” Vicki advised, turning to smile up encouragingly at Poe.  “They faced this team earlier in the season and it was a tough game.”_

_“Nah, I think he knows what he’s doing,” Poe countered, noticing Bastian (number 32, he now knew) glance over cautiously to the stands.  Poe smirked, sending spirit fingers the kid’s way, and almost basking in the bright laughter that followed from the ice._

_“Don’t listen to Vicki,” Connie joked with a wink.  “She’s such a downer.  You’ll get used to it.”_

_That seemed to be Connie’s answer to everything, so Poe was shocked when, after Bastian notched the puck into the upper left corner of the net and his teammates slammed into him in a mass of screaming limbs, and he and Connie were jumping up and down in the stands, cheering, Evelyn screaming and pounding her hand against Poe’s back like he had anything to do with it, Connie turned to him and panted, “That—you’ll never get used to.”_

**“And she was right,”** Poe chuckled to himself, shaking his head.  “I never got used to it.  I can’t even watch him on TV without damn near going into cardiac arrest.  I thought eventually, after he was named to the under-sixteen national team, after he went to World Juniors and won the damn thing, I thought it would wear off.  But it never did.”

“You love him.”

Poe blinked up, almost forgetting the reason he was even reliving that day was because Finn was there, was asking him, instead of telling him, about Bastian.  “Yeah,” Poe nodded, unashamed.  “Like he was my…my son, I guess.  Even though I kinda hate it when he calls me ‘Dad.’  He had a much better father than me.”

“And you stayed, right,” Finn asked, even though he knew the answer, but assuming hadn’t exactly gone well for him up to this point with Poe and Bastian.

_..._

**“He stayed for ten years,”** Bastian finished, shooting a bright smile at the stranger listening to him with soft eyes and a kind smile.  “He’d gotten a scholarship to Cornell, which was about thirty miles away.  So, he commuted back and forth, picked me up from practices, drove all over the state for games.  Like, what college student wants to spend his time doing that?”

“One who realizes there’s more to life than drinking and parties,” the other man answered, to Bastian’s surprise because the man hadn’t said a word since Bastian had started the story.  “One who, I would hazard to guess, does not think you ruined his life at all.”

 

“He never even got the chance to date someone because of me,” Bastian countered, nibbling on one of the last remaining fries, noticing the other man hadn’t touched his sandwich.  “You can eat, you know.”

 

The other man blinked, looking down at his meal as if he hadn’t realized it was there.  “Yes, in a moment,” he said before turning his full attention back on Bastian, who shivered at the worried look trained on him.  “Tell me you understand your friend had a choice, and he made the right one.”

Bastian gulped, unable to look away from the heavy, searching expression that made him feel about two inches tall.  “I—I just wish it hadn’t—I wish he could’ve had it easier.”

_..._

**“And I wouldn’t change a second of it,”** Poe said firmly, meeting Finn’s sad eyes.  “And I don’t need your pity.  I don’t want to be who I could’ve been without Bastian in my life.  I’ll take all the earlier mornings, all the coffee-fueled long drives, all the frozen fingers and toes, over whatever ‘normal’ people were doing at Cornell.”

“I said you were hurting him,” Finn mumbled, eyes dropping to his legs, now crossed in front of him on the couch cushion.  Poe hummed questioningly and Finn cleared his throat.  “Earlier.  Tonight, I said you were hurting him.”

 

“Yeah, I remember,” Poe huffed, crossing his arms loosely over his chest, glancing up at his ceiling where the shadows of his curtains rippled with the light from the street.

 

“How—how the hell did you sit there and take that,” Finn asked, flabbergasted, knowing what he knew now.

 

“It would’ve hurt him to correct you,” Poe shrugged as if it was nothing, and Finn could only gap.  “I can’t believe he went and—and told you.  He’s still adjusting to—everything—and--,”

“He said you had done more for him,” Finn choked out, and Poe’s head snapped up, jaw dropping.  “He said it was the least he could do.”

“Idiot,” Poe breathed fondly, shaking his head.

 

“And I didn’t know what he was talking about,” Finn went on.  “I asked, but he told me it would be better if you told me.  Then he dragged me down here and threatened to destroy my apartment if I left before you came back.”

 

Poe snorted, smirking at the image.  “Now that does sound like a little rascal I know.  He would’ve done it too.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Finn chuckled.  “He had very detailed plans about it.”

 

“And he was right,” Poe continued, sounding almost annoyed.  “It was better to hear it from me.  You wouldn’t have believed Bastian’s version.  He makes it sound like I’m his guardian angel.”

 

“What do you think your version sounds like,” Finn asked lightly, and Poe smiled comradely over, Finn’s chest warming at the ease of it.

 

...

**“And he had something going with this guy on his bus and I’ve been here three days and I screwed it up,”** Bastian finished with a moody flourish with his last fry before popping it into his mouth, chewing as he cushioned his cheek against his fist.

 

“If that is true—and I am very dubious,” the man began, cleaning the lenses of his glasses with a handkerchief he’d produced from his pocket before placing them delicately back on his face, “then they were certainly having trouble before you arrived.”

 

Bastian shrugged at the truth of that statement, giving the other man a break so he could begin to eat his sandwich.  “But I think they might be able to fix it… I think they both want to, and that’s half the battle, right?”

 

“Indeed.  One might say that mutuality is the entire battle,” the other man said with a leading smile that left Bastian floored again.  The man just smiled almost understandingly before taking another bite of his turkey club.

 

Bastian twisted his crumpled straw wrapper around his fingers again, a nervous tic he’d been employing the whole time unconsciously.  “It’s getting kinda late,” Bastian mentioned.

 

“Yes,” the other man agreed neutrally before finishing his milk with a final gulp.  “Perhaps you should be getting back before your friend begins to worry.”

 

“Oh I’m not going back tonight,” Bastian replied quickly, the other man freezing, a quarter of his sandwich in his hands, halfway to his mouth.  “Why did ya think I was hanging out in a twenty-four-hour diner?”

 

“I thought you had an affinity for their fries and milkshakes,” the man answered, looking at Bastian appraisingly out of the corner of his eye.  “You intend to spend the whole night here?”

 

“Yeah,” Bastian smiled like it was nothing.  “But I meant you…if you have someone waiting up for you or something…?”

 

“Ah,” the man exhaled before taking another bite.  Bastian glanced around, noticing that as time moved closer to one AM, the diner was actually filling up.  “I have no commitments,” the man explained after chewing and swallowing.  “And I don’t recall having stayed up the whole night since I was in school.”

 

Bastian thought that over before his eyes widened in comprehension.  “I—you want—yeah, you really don’t have to do that,” he rushed to reassure, but the other man just shook his head and gestured for the waiter who was wiping down the far end of the counter. 

 

“Another order of fries, I think, two glasses of milk, and what kinds of pie do you have,” the man rattled off, and Bastian had to hold onto the edge of the counter to keep from falling off his stool.

 

...

**“What I don’t get,”** Poe said, now sitting on the floor, back against his armchair and water bottle held between his bent knees, “is how we screwed this up in the first place.”

 

Finn laughed, knocking the back of head against the white woven area rug where he was laid out, his own water bottle balanced on his chest and rising and falling as he breathed.  “Because we were fucking morons.”

 

“Yeah, no, I got that part,” Poe laughed back, nudging his sock-clad toes against Finn’s temple gently.  “But I thought we had something going—something casual but _something_ —and then out of the blue I’m getting the cold shoulder.”  

 

“Remember a month and a half ago?”

 

Poe rolled his eyes.  “I remember there _was_ a month and a half ago.  Gotta be more specific here, buddy.”

 

“You vanished for four days,” Finn stated.  Poe laughed again but trailed off when Finn didn’t join him this time.

“I appreciate how you’re making me sound all dark and mysterious,” Poe joked, “but dark and mysterious isn’t my move.  I don’t _vanish_.”

 

“You did,” Finn refuted without any heat, staring up at the ceiling fan, immobile.  “We made plans for Friday night and then you called to cancel with for no reason.  And I didn’t hear from you or see you for four days.”

 

“Oh no,” Poe breathed, eyes squinting closed in a grimace.  “Oh _no_.”

 

“And instead of asking you about it like an adult,” Finn went on, annoyed at himself, “I assumed you were blowing me off or ghosting on me and I—look, I’m not exactly proud of it, okay?”

 

“A month and a half ago,” Poe repeated, digging his fists into his eyes, shoulders shaking.  “You want to know where I went a month and a half ago?”

 

“I don’t think I’m really in a position to be demanding explanations,” Finn winced, ashamed, but Poe just shook his head, looking around.

 

“No, hold on a sec,” Poe demanded, chuckling to himself.  “Where’s my darn phone?”

 

“Quick question,” Finn began, as Poe twisted up to his knees, searching the end table, “do you seriously not curse, like, ever?”

 

“I got used to little ears listening,” Poe tossed over his shoulder with a smirk, and Finn felt his cheeks warm at that.  “Also, don’t think I missed that ‘hot cuddles’ line.  Genius.  If I ever adopt another kid, I’m using it.”

 

Finn blinked in surprise as Poe hissed victoriously, plopping back down with his cellphone, typing with his fingers.  “You—uh, you think about kids?”

 

“Not seriously,” Poe mumbled distracted, scrolling his thumb across his screen, looking for something.  “Bastian probably spoiled me.  God, he was so easy.  Until he hit fifteen and got an attitude.  Here we go,” he added, smiling down at his screen before passing his phone over.

 

Finn pushed himself to sit up, head spinning a little from the two ‘To Bastian’ shots they’d shared earlier.  He shot Poe a cautious look, but the older man just nodded encouragingly, and Finn took the phone, looking down at the paused video on the screen.

 

He tapped his thumb against the play button and loud cheering echoed through the speaker, the video panning around a darkened arena where red and white spotlights pulsed around the rink, where figures were lined up at center rink.  The video zoomed in as the announcer’s booming voice said,

 

“And, making his National Hockey League debut, number thirty-two, Bastian Bridger!”

 

Finn’s jaw dropped as the video began to shake, and Poe’s unmistakable cheering joined the video, as a skater charged onto the ice, circling one of the nets with his hockey stick held aloft, the other skaters in burgundy jerseys tapping their sticks until Bastian, the camera now zoomed in to show the man’s bright, excited smile, skidded to a halt beside his teammates and the video ended.

 

“It was also his twenty-first birthday, because he’s basically living a Disney channel movie,” Poe supplied with an easy smile, choking slightly on his tongue at the sudden, startled look Finn sent his way.  “What?”

 

“He’s twenty-one?!”

 

“Yeah, I know, I can’t believe it either,” Poe chuckled, but Finn shook his head frantically.

 

“He’s _only_ twenty-one?”

 

Poe cocked his head to the left.  “Yeah,” he drew out, “how old did you think he was?”

 

...

**“What was it like growing up in Bosnia,”** Bastian asked in awe, sitting cross-legged in the diner booth they had moved to when the other man had gently suggested in might be more comfortable.

 

“I would not recommend it, but I know it could have been a great deal worse,” the man answered, taking a fry off Bastian’s plate, but since Bastian had already nicked a bite of the other man’s chocolate cream pie he allowed it.

 

“But,” Bastian started before stopping himself, thinking maybe asking about the war wasn’t exactly the direction he wanted to take the night.  “Um, where did you live?”

 

“A small village on Buško Blato,” the man replied with a fond smile.  Bastian shook his head in incomprehension and the fond smile was suddenly directed to him.  “A lake, not far from the Croatian border.”

 

“So, you’ve always lived by a lake,” Bastian said, and the other man looked surprised at the statement.

 

“I suppose I have,” the man said softly, stroking his beard, considering.  “I had never thought of it like that.  Do you know, I’ve often thought the sunrise on Lake Michigan looks like home to me.”

 

“And what does that look like,” Bastian inquired, enjoying the benign attention now that the pair had moved on from talking about his own issues.

 

“Like water turned fire,” the other man responded with a dazed look of remembering before sharpening his focus on Bastian again.  “Have you never seen it?  The sunrise over the lake?”  Bastian shook his head, a little sheepishly.  “Well, I must correct that.”

 

“Uh.”

 

“We have the perfect excuse,” the man mentioned at Bastian hesitance.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Neither of us want to go home.”

 

...

**“One thing, real quick,”** Poe gasped out, pulling back for breath.  Finn hovered over him, his weight held on his hands bracketing Poe’s head.  “First off, we’re really doing this, I have a bed.”

 

“I might remember the way,” Finn quipped with an excited grin, starting to get to his feet but Poe’s grip on the back of his neck held him in place.

 

“Secondly, are we good now?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re good.  Super good.  Like acai berries,” Finn babbled, tugging at Poe’s flannel shirt, urging the man to sit up and get a move on, but Poe stayed put.

 

“Lastly,” Poe said seriously, “we are never telling Bastian about a month and a half ago.”

 

“Never,” Finn agreed instantly.  “I’ve been telling Rey we were too busy.”

 

“Our jobs are so demanding,” Poe nodded, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

 

“Didn’t leave us much time,” Finn nodded back, inhaling more deeply.  “Just drifted apart for a while.”

 

“One thing led to another.”

 

“One of us was an assuming son of a bitch.”

 

“And one of us is as thick as a block of cement,” Poe allowed with a shamefaced shrug, finally sitting up.  “But we’re going to try and be better this time?”

 

“Absolutely,” Finn nodded determinedly.  “Now, bed,” he asked hopefully.

 

“Bed,” Poe echoed with a wolfish smirk.  “Lead the way, oh hot cuddle maestro.”

 

“Yeah, I can still leave you to deal with _that_ yourself, you know.”

 

... 

**“Like water turned to fire,”** Bastian marveled, sitting on the cement ledge, his feet dangling over the side and his arms hanging over the metal railing.  A soft rustling next to him and then a leg was pressed against his side, and he leaned his head against the offered support.

 

“Is it better than you imagined,” the man asked softly, and Bastian glanced away from icy Lake Michigan, painted with gradually intensifying oranges and pinks, to look up and meet the other man’s own gaze.

 

“Yeah.  A lot better,” Bastian answered, hoping his nervousness was at least a little hidden behind his borrowed scarf.  Although ‘borrowed’ wasn’t exactly the word since the other man had insisted on wrapping his scarf snug around Bastian’s neck and foisted his leather gloves on him too.

 

The other man exhaled in a puff of steam.  “Tell me your name.”

 

Bastian quickly looked away, back to the lake where the sunlight reflecting off the ice made it almost painful to see.  “Isn’t it kinda better if we don’t know each other’s name,” he mumbled into the thick midnight blue scarf.

 

The other man was quiet for a moment and Bastian thought maybe he agreed, but then a cold hand cupped the back of his head.  “That is a very romantic notion,” he said, voice just loud enough to be heard over the screech of early-rising seagulls.  “But there are many other romantic notions which I would prefer.”

 

“But it’s just one night,” Bastian pointed out, bumping his heels against the cement, trying to distract himself from the pit growing in his stomach.

 

“And why do you think it must be just one night,” the man pressed, his thumb stroking the curve of Bastian’s ear, the most caring contact he’d had from anyone except Poe in years.  

 

“Because that’s how it works,” Bastian choked out, hoping it was the blinding light and not something else that had his eyes tearing up.  He turned his face away just to be safe, hiding against his shoulder with a sniff.

 

“Oh sweetness,” came a mournful whisper before Bastian was enveloped in a loose embrace.  “Do not cry.  I would rather never learn your name then know I made you sad on our one night.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bastian rasped, blinking back tears as he held the other man’s wrists against his shoulders.

 

“Hush now,” the man soothed, his nose gently nudging against Bastian’s hair.  “Watch the sunrise with me.”

 

*****

 

Hours later, Bastian let himself in Poe’s apartment, box of donuts held against his hip.

 

Poe glanced up from his tablet, mug of coffee raised to his lips.  Instantly he scanned the younger man, looking for any sign of trouble or distress.  Besides his tired, slightly red eyes, he couldn’t find anything wrong.

 

Bastian, however, took one look at Poe, sitting alone, and his face fell, crestfallen and disappointed.

 

Poe smirked, glancing towards his closed bedroom door.

 

Bastian frowned, moving further into the apartment to see.

 

The door opened, and Finn entered, humming some tune to himself and faffing with his damp hair.

 

There was a shriek and the box of donuts hit the floor the same moment Bastian barreled into Finn, Poe bursting out laughing and spilling his coffee across the kitchen table.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This chapter was so fun to write, but also I felt a bit of pressure to do all of this justice. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or kudos on the last chapter! You are all absolutely spectacular and marvelous and I really am so thankful that you all make writing this little story so much fun :)


	5. No Place Left to Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to wrap it up and tie it with a bow :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

** _Two Weeks Later_ **

 

“I heard there was a lawyer pretending to work in here.”

 

Poe’s head snapped up from where he was scowling down at a recent ruling from a district judge that didn’t align with the line of argument he was preparing, and broke into a wide smile at the sight of the bearded man leaning against his office doorframe.  “Iolo!  What brings you into the loop?”

 

“Occasionally I work with lawyers who aren’t you,” Iolo quipped, walking in to shake Poe’s offered hand across the dark-stained wood desk with a sly smile.

 

“What?  No, I won’t stand for that,” Poe teased, getting to his feet and moving around to lean against his desk, grinning across at the man in a crisp light blue button-up, tucked into dark jeans with a brown corduroy jacket just visible through his unbuttoned coat.  “I thought we had something special.”

 

“My apologies.  Would it help if I said you were my favorite?”

 

“Only if it’s the truth,” Poe joked back, and Iolo rolled his eyes in mock exasperation before setting his feet and cocking his head to the side to observe Poe curiously.

 

“I’m not interrupting your thoughts, am I,” Iolo asked with a hint of genuine concern that Poe remembered finding refreshing the very first time they had met, locked in a florescent-lit El car for forty-five minutes due to a derailment ahead.

 

“No, never,” Poe dismissed easily with a shrug.  “Do you have time to go to lunch with me?  There’s a deli around the corner that’s decent.”

 

“With glowing reviews like that, we may have to fight for a seat,” Iolo chuckled lowly as he nodded.  “I have no appointments until this evening.”

 

“Got a date,” Poe asked as he pulled his coat on quickly and Iolo looped his dark blue scarf around his neck.

 

“Hardly,” Iolo answered, sounding almost regretful and Poe noted that as the pair moved towards the bank of elevators.  “I have a session with two of my more…challenging clients.”

 

“Custody fights are no joke,” Poe offered, summoning a descending elevator with his thumb.

 

“Indeed not,” Iolo allowed lightly before asking Poe how his immigration work was going and employed his active listening skills as the other man ranted about shifting laws and changing precedents and the heart-wrenching stories he was faced with every day.  Iolo hid his smirk in his scarf as he matched Poe’s accelerated pace to the small, dimly-lit deli in the neighboring office building: if there was one thing he could count on, it was Poe dominating a conversation if he was given the chance.

 

“—but you don’t want to hear about all that,” Poe finished with a smile as the waiter moved away to get their orders of a turkey club and Rueben sandwich started.  Iolo did a good job of looking engaged and interested but even Poe could tell the other man had something on his mind.  “What have you been up to?  I can’t remember the last time I saw you.”

 

“It must have been last month,” Iolo said, considering and smoothing his hair back into place after the wind tousled it.  “That oddly dismal reception.”

 

“Oh God, I remember,” Poe laughed and winced.  “They really shouldn’t turn a cocktail hour into a guilt trip without some kind of warning.”

 

“Not that it wasn’t a worthy cause,” Iolo allowed politely but Poe shook his head in disagreement.

 

“It was guerilla warfare, and on behalf of bludgeoned seals I’m insulted,” he countered, and Iolo let out a burst of sudden, bright laughter before slapping a hand over his mouth.  Poe squared his shoulder at the victory and went on, “And where have you been since then?”

 

“Ah, I went home for my father’s birthday.”

 

“And how is Bosnia these days,” Poe asked lightly, crossing his arms.

 

“It has its struggles, but at least my family is doing well,” Iolo allowed, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.  “Too well, I’d say, as my mother had ample time to set up a date for me.”

 

Poe whistled lowly.  “Was… _she_ nice at least?”

 

“No, no, we understood each other perfectly,” Iolo assured.  “We agreed that we would not suit.”

 

“She seems nice at least.”

 

“I won’t introduce you,” Iolo warned, jokingly.  “For one thing, she is a woman who lives in Bosnia.  For another, I seem to recall you had other obligations yourself.”

 

“I’m not sure ‘obligation’ is the word you’re looking for,” Poe mentioned lightly, nodding as their waiter dropped a glass of milk and a small glass bottle of Coca-Cola off without breaking his stride.

 

“I’m sorry, my English--,” Iolo began but Poe held up his hand.

 

“Your English is better than most native speakers, don’t worry about it.  And you’re right,” Poe continued as Iolo nodded his thanks and took a small sip of his milk, “I don’t need to be set up.  Finn and I worked it out.”

 

“Well, that is wonderful to hear,” Iolo said, sending a warm, encouraging smile at the other man.  “Every felicitation to you both.”

 

“Thanks,” Poe replied with an amused smirk.  “Don’t start your wedding toast or anything, but we’re doing alright.”

 

“I shall keep the toasts to myself for now,” Iolo replied lightly.  “I hope Finn spoke to you about everything?”

 

Poe blinked.  “Oh.  Right.  I forgot the two of you knew each other.”

 

“Acquaintances,” Iolo commented, folding his hands together on the plastic tabletop.

 

“He—Finn talked about me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you didn’t tell me,” Poe demanded, brows drawing together.  Iolo took in the pose drily before meeting Poe’s slight glare with a bland look of his own.

 

“I did not.  Perhaps you have heard of client confidentiality?”

 

“He wasn’t your client,” Poe pointed out moodily.

 

“No, he was not.  He was a new friend with a great deal on his mind.”

 

Poe ground his teeth but couldn’t come up with any response to that.  “Sorry,” he grunted out, and Iolo shrugged lightly, reaching for his drink.

 

“You would have to try a bit harder to insult me, Poe.  But perhaps we should change the subject,” he suggested, raising his brows meaningfully before taking another sip of his milk.  Poe smiled tiredly and nodded.

 

“Alright, let’s move onto your love life.”

 

Iolo huffed out a breathy snort at that.  “Certainly.  We should cover all of it in a few seconds.”

 

“What, nothing?  Are you looking for someone,” Poe pressed.  Iolo rocked his head side to side, not exactly answering but also not ignoring the question.  “So, you _are_ looking?”  

 

“I am looking, in vain, for someone very specific,” Iolo admitted grudgingly, and Poe’s eyes narrowed in incomprehension.

 

“As in you have really high standards?”

 

“I met someone and promptly—lost him,” Iolo sighed, massaging two fingers against his right temple and a brooding, wistful air came over him, one that Poe knew all to well from personal experience.

 

“Lost him how,” Poe asked, dropping his voice into a kinder register.  Iolo didn’t show any sign of having heard, too consumed with visualizing something only he could see.

 

“We spent a night together, talking, telling stories, and then I let him leave without so much as a name or—or anything.  It was extraordinary.  It was kismet.”

 

Poe froze, grip around his bottle of Coke tightening.  “Did—did you say _kismet_?”

 

_“He said it was kismet.  Like, fate wanted us to meet,” Bastian mumbled to the kitchen table, fingers twisting together in his lap.  Poe’s jaw hung loose as he stared across at the young man before shifting his gaze to Finn, whose eyes were bugged out and focused on the hockey player._

 

“Yes.  Fate,” Iolo elaborated with a small, rueful shrug.

 

“Yeah, I know what it means,” Poe replied numbly, impossible thoughts and possibilities racing through his mind.  “One night together, right?”

 

“Only one,” Iolo agreed, shaking his head.  “He was…inexplicable.  And I fear I will regret watching him walk away every day of my life.”

 

_“After that, after all that,” Finn breathed, “you still walked away?!”_

_“I had to,” Bastian countered, eyes darting in panic from Finn’s incredulous face to Poe’s tight frown.  “He was—confident and smart and gorgeous.  I can’t have that!  Finn, I’ve never even kissed a guy sober before.  What was I supposed to do, tell him I’m a coward who’s too scared to hold hands where anyone could see?”_

 

“Did he give you any reason for leaving without giving his name or anything,” Poe asked lowly, heart pounding in his ears as the man across from his merely shook his head.

 

“He did not, but I did not press for an explanation.  But, we spent seven hours together in a diner—that hardly warrants elucidation.”

 

“A diner,” Poe repeated slowly, and Iolo looked up, frowning at the strange smirk curving up the other man’s face.

 

“Yes, why,” Iolo asked suspiciously, but Poe just kept grinning, covering his mouth with a hand and shaking his head as something like a mirthful giggle was stifled and their sandwiches were deposited at the edge of their table with a clatter.  “Poe, are you feeling well?”

 

“I’m feeling _great_ , buddy,” Poe answered from behind his hand.  Iolo did not look convinced as he drew his turkey club closer.  Fidgeting in his seat in barely contained excitement, Poe dropped his hand and announced, “You should come to dinner Saturday night.”

 

Iolo blinked at the sudden shift.  “Thank you.  Is there any occasion?”

 

“Yes, well, no,” Poe corrected quickly, and Iolo took a bite of his sandwich while shooting the other man a judging look.  “A friend of mine has been away on…a business trip,” he explained with a slight hesitation.  “And he comes back Saturday.  Finn will be there.”

 

“It sounds very cozy,” Iolo allowed after swallowing.  “It also sounds like I would be intruding.”

 

“No, no, no,” Poe disagreed rapidly, reaching out and resting his fingers on Iolo’s wrist, much to the other man’s amazement.  “Please, we definitely want you to join us.  We’ll have dinner, watch a movie or something--,”

 

“Poe, I get the feeling I am missing something here,” Iolo said slowly, tapping his fingers against his glass, trailing his eyes over Poe’s overly joyful expression.

 

“No, no, just—okay, I’m not doing this right,” Poe muttered, shaking his head before training an almost too earnest look at the bespectacled man across from him.  “I was going to invite you over anyway, because I like you and we haven’t hung out in a while.  And after hearing—well, maybe this could take your mind off all of that for a bit.”

 

Iolo smiled sadly and said, “Nothing has been able to take my mind off him for the past two weeks.”

 

“Two weeks, huh?”  The giddy smile was back on Poe’s face, and Iolo raised an eyebrow in befuddlement.  “Well, then at least come by so I can apologize for being a dick a minute ago about you and Finn.”

 

Iolo blinked before coming to the realization the besuited man across from him would only accept one answer.  “What can I bring,” he asked, resolving himself to his new Saturday night plans.

 

“Nothing, just yourself.  Although,” Poe added, a thought occurring to him, not a bad one either, “if you can find some white hot chocolate mix you’d be my friend’s hero.”

 

“As in, white chocolate,” Iolo queried, for clarification.

 

“Yeah.  No pressure, but if you see some around,” Poe shrugged before diving into his sandwich, leaving Iolo wondering if he had ever even seen such a beverage.

 

Poe wasn’t sure how he managed to get through the rest of his day.  He couldn’t, for the life of him, say what he had read, written, said the whole afternoon, and it wasn’t until he caught sight of just the person he wanted to see on the bus that evening that he finally released his suppressed laughter.

 

“Quit it, you wacko,” Finn hissed, maneuvering himself through the crowded bus until he could hang onto the same metal pole as the hysterical man.  “People are staring.”

 

“F-Finn,” Poe gasped, rubbing away a happy tear with his gloved fist.  “Y-you w-won’t believe it.”

 

“Try me,” Finn shot back blandly, rocking with the motion of the bus to keep himself from stumbling smack into Poe’s chest.

 

“I found him.”

 

Finn blinked, glancing around in case there was someone he recognized besides the blissfully happy man in front of him.  “Found who, Elvis?”

 

“I—wait, what,” Poe drew back, confused.  “Elvis is dead, Finn.”

 

“No, I know _that_ ,” Finn rolled his eyes.  “I’m just saying--,”     

 

“I found Diner Guy.”

 

“ _What_?!”

 

“Keep it down; people are staring,” Poe pointed out drily before the lapels of his coat were grabbed and he was pulled close to Finn’s intense face.

 

“Are you fucking with me,” Finn breathed, eyes drilling into Poe’s, who swallowed nervously.

 

“Okay, you’re kinda scaring me here, buddy,” Poe mentioned.  The bus took a corner sharply, and Poe slung an arm around Finn’s waist to keep him from toppling onto two seated passengers. 

 

Finn nodded his thanks, released Poe so he could hold onto the pole again before returning to the matter at hand.  “You actually found the guy—the one in a million guy—who Bastian has been talking about every night?  The guy who we both were half-convinced doesn’t exist?!”

 

“Yep, that’s the one.  Kismet Guy, Diner Guy, Sunrise-on-the-Lake Guy,” Poe nodded slowly.  “He’s real, by the way.”

 

“How the hell did you find him?  Craig’s List ad,” Finn pressed.

 

Poe narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “No,” he drew out, “because that would be creepy, right, Finn?”

 

“Yeah, totally,” Finn agreed, remembering the three drafts of such an ad saved on the laptop in his bag.  No one harm done anyway.  “But then how did you--,”

 

“It’s Iolo,” Poe announced, feeling extremely satisfied as Finn’s jaw dropped.  “I know.  Who knew Iolo had game?”

 

“I—I’m going to need to process that,” Finn mumbled, eyes wide and shaking his head.  “Did you tell him—wait, did you tell _Bas_?”

 

“Nah, I did one better,” Poe preened with a smirk.  “I invited Iolo to dinner on Saturday.  You’re invited too, FYI.”

 

“You’re going to surprise attack both of them,” Finn said dubiously.

 

“Like Bas didn’t do the exact same thing to me,” Poe asked blandly, tilting his head to the left.

 

“Okay, you’ve got a point there,” Finn allowed reluctantly, something about the plan not sitting right with him, but going with it as Poe began plotting menu options.

 

And he had decided on a spaghetti and meatballs (simple, but he’d use the sauce recipe from Gina that took about five hours and was worth it) by the time Bastian trudged sleepily into the apartment very early Saturday morning.

 

“How was the flight, bud,” Poe asked, quickly turning off the random black and white movie he’d been staring at for the last hour, waiting.

 

“Long.  Tried to sleep but I couldn’t,” Bastian answered with a huff as he dropped his duffle bag and the garment bag he’d borrowed from Poe on the ground and slumped all his weight against the door.  “My brain can’t decide if I’m dead or keyed up.”

 

“I know something that’ll help with that,” Poe teased, getting to his feet and stretching his arms high over his head, feeling the tension ease from his fingers to his toes.

 

“Did ya find some,” Bastian asked with a hint of excitement which Poe dashed with a shake of his head.  “What is it with Chicago and not have white hot chocolate,” he mumbled to himself as he toed out of his loosely-tied boots.

 

“I’ll order some from Amazon,” Poe reassured, heading to the kitchen and mentally congratulating himself on thinking of buying more milk after work.

 

“I kinda thought Finn would be here,” Bastian mentioned as he kicked his boots into the hall closet and stripped off his coat and scarf.  Poe snorted at that, finishing off the mostly empty milk carton into a small pot and putting it on the stove, turning on the burner and quickly dropping it to the lowest setting.

 

“Nah, he had plans with some of his friends.  He texted me they watched your game at the bar.”

 

“That’s…nice of him,” Bastian decided, wandering over to the peninsula and pushing himself up to sit on the granite countertop.  “I guess you didn’t?”

 

“Why do ya think that, bud,” Poe inquired, moving to stand in front of the younger man and crossing his arms.

 

“Because you haven’t yelled at me yet,” Bastian replied with a small, shame-faced smile.  Poe’s lips twitched up at that before settling back to a stern expression as he studied Bastian’s face, most of his focus trained on the dark, puffy bruise under Bastian’s right eye.  “I had to, papi.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” Poe countered neutrally, tucking his fingers around Bastian’s chin and turning his face to judge the damage more clearly.  “I thought rookies were sacred.”

 

“I mean, vets aren’t supposed to go out of their way to drop the gloves with us,” Bastian shrugged, folding his hands in his lap as Poe shifted to pull open his freezer with a jerk.  “And the team was pissed about it.  Even the goalie left his crease, did ya see that?”

 

“I was too busy screaming at you to duck,” Poe replied drily as he took out a bag of frozen peas, letting the freezer door close behind him as he wrapped a kitchen towel around the icy bag and handed it over.  Bastian took it wordlessly, looking all the world like a puppy caught chewing on shoes, and Poe relented.  “That guy had fifteen pounds on you.”

 

“Yeah, if he hadn’t lost his footing I didn’t stand a chance,” Bastian allowed, peas pressed to his right eye, the orange tea towel obscuring half his face.  “But I wasn’t goading him, I swear.  He was trash talking everyone.”

 

“Yeah, the commentators helpfully filled me in on that,” Poe said, checking on the milk.  “Just, don’t go making a habit of it, okay?”

 

“No worries, I don’t actually enjoy getting rabbit punched to the face,” Bastian joked with a roll of his exposed eye.  “Besides, Jaakob—fourth line center—told me to leave the fights to him.”

 

“Remind me to send Jaakob some roses,” Poe retorted without any heat, and Bastian chuckled in response as the older man gave the warming milk a stir.  “Alright, we’re just about ready.  Go get settled in bed and I’ll bring it to you.”

 

“Oh, uh—ya know, I can take the couch, if you want?”

 

Poe blinked and then glanced over his shoulder.  “Do you want to take the couch, bud?”  Bastian shrugged, not responding, and Poe switched off the stove and faced him straight on.  “Something on your mind?”

 

“Just—don’t want to step on any toes or anything,” Bastian muttered into his chest, only looking up at Poe’s scoff.

 

“That’s very thoughtful of you, bud, but how about you let me and Finn set our own limits, okay?”

 

“But you guys don’t _talk_!”

 

“We’re getting better,” Poe shot back with a smirk.  “If you’re really worried about it, you can text him yourself but it’s three in the morning and he’s more likely to cuss you out for waking him up than thank you for thinking of him.”

 

Bastian considered those options before deciding he’d been cussed at enough for one night and slid off the counter, placing the frozen peas on the counter because he didn’t want them melting in Poe’s bed…again.  He padded into the bedroom, using only the light from the kitchen to guide him over to his suitcase, open against the wall right where he had left it.  He fished out a pair of drawstring basketball shorts and the first t-shirt he saw and changed, piling his jeans, button-up, and sweater on the corner of the bed.  He pulled off his socks, balled them together, and tossed them into the whicker laundry basket beside the bathroom door, the rest of his discarded clothes joining them before Bastian crawled up the mattress and tucked his legs under the thick down comforter.  He was adjusting the pillows to support his back when he saw a familiar green-cover spiral notebook on Poe’s nightstand.

 

“Here you go,” Poe announced softly as he entered, steaming mug in his grip, and switched lights from the kitchen to the bedroom with his elbow.  “Hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.”

 

“You spoil me rotten,” Bastian grinned, making exaggerated grabby-hands at the older man, who chuckled and passed it over, making sure Bastian had a hold on the handle before letting go.

 

“Yeah, I know.  It’s a miracle you didn’t grow up to be a menace,” Poe teased, climbing into his side of the bed and noticing the notebook open in Bastian’s lap.  “You caught me.”

 

“Why were you reading this old thing,” Bastian asked with a grimace at his messy, teenage handwriting stared mockingly up at him.

 

“I—uh, I was looking at The List,” Poe admitted, feeling his cheeks warm to a flush as Bastian’s head snapped his way in surprise.  “I know it’s sappy, but…well, I know it’s sappy.”

 

“Dude, The List sucks,” Bastian whined, flicking through the pages with experienced haste, stopping at the desired page and scanning the messy scrawl as he took a gulp of his hot chocolate.  “Like, come on!  Number three is ‘does he like the Gin Blossoms.’  Thirteen-year-old me thought that was more important than ‘does he smell good’!”

 

“In retrospect, the Gin Blossoms might not be the deal breaker you thought,” Poe agreed gently, scooting over so they were sitting side by side, legs pressed together.  “Smelling good definitely should be higher up.”

 

“You think,” Bastian asked blandly, reading ‘ _Is he nice_ ’ and ‘ _Is he a smoker_ ’ as he took another sip.  “But what were you doing with this?”

 

“I—you know, it’s not really important--,”

 

“Oh my God, you were grading Finn.”

 

“Well--,”

 

“No, Poe, you _didn’t_ ,” Bastian cackled at the older man’s glare.  “Poe, you can’t do that.  We’re terrible people.”

 

“We’re not terrible people,” Poe sighed, pulling the notebook into his own lap as Bastian took another gulp and tucked his legs to his chest and curled himself into Poe’s side.  “I wasn’t going to break up with him if he ‘chewed ice cream’ or anything.  I just—I guess I wanted to see if, if he and I had met earlier, if we would’ve still hit it off.”

 

Bastian turned his face to nuzzle his nose against Poe’s cheek, and the older man slung his arm around Bastian’s shoulders, pulling him closer.  “Okay, that’s kinda cute.  Maybe you’re not terrible,” Bastian allowed lightly.

 

“Thanks, bud,” Poe huffed, planting a quick kiss against Bastian’s hair.  “You know what we could do?”

 

“Burn it?  I like where your mind’s at.”

 

“No,” Poe smiled, pinching Bastian just under the ribs in retaliation.  The other man jerked slightly in surprise before sipping his hot chocolate again.  “We could grade Diner Guy.”

 

There was a long pause and Poe held his breath, hoping he hadn’t taken a step too far as Bastian’s body tensed against his.  “I…I didn’t know Diner Guy enough to—to have any answers,” the younger man murmured, ashamed, into Poe’s shirt.

 

“I know,” Poe whispered back, running his palm in soothing stroked across Bastian’s back.  “But what about answering the ones you do know?”

 

Bastian didn’t reply for a long beat, instead inhaling a large mouthful of soggy marshmallows.  But Poe felt the younger man mold against him and smiled at the victory.  “Well, he was definitely nice,” Bastian said quietly, and Poe reached over to pick up the pencil from his nightstand and placing a check next to the item.  “And he smelled good, for sure.”

 

“That’s two right there,” Poe praised encouragingly, and Bastian flashed a quick, shaky smile up at him.  “How good are we talking?”

 

“Like fancy cologne I can’t afford,” Bastian replied, nestling his mug between his bent legs and stomach as Poe drew another check mark.  “Kinda pepper-y but not enough to make you sneeze, ya know?”

 

Poe couldn’t recall ever noticing Iolo’s cologne but he went with it.  “That’s great, bud.  Anything else?”

 

“Uh, well I don’t know if he chews ice cream, but he had a sip of my milkshake and didn’t chew that.”

 

“Sharing milkshakes, huh?  Did you give him your letterman jacket too,” Poe teased and Bastian stuck out his tongue.

 

“No, cause I’m not a nineteen-fifties’ high schooler over here.”

 

“And because you were too busy taking his scarf and gloves,” Poe mentioned, placing another check next to ‘ _is he nice_.’

 

“I gave them back,” Bastian defended quickly, not mentioning that he did keep the handkerchief that Diner Guy had pressed into his hand when Bastian had finally broken down.  What Poe didn’t know won’t hurt him.  “And I don’t know if he likes the Gin Blossoms.”

 

“Bud, I think we’re the only people with this unhealthy obsession with nineties grunge music,” Poe said easily, drawing a quick question mark next to the third item on the list.  “So, smoking: yes or no?”

 

Bastian hummed, his eyes blinking closed.  “Nope, don’t think he smokes.”

 

“And did he make you happy?”

 

Bastian smiled a private, satisfied smile into Poe’s clavicle.  “Yeah.  Very.”

 

“Looks like you answered just about everything, Bas,” Poe pointed out kindly, ignoring some of the more out-there appendix questions that had been added over the years as jokes.

 

“Should’ve put ‘what’s his name’ on there,” Bastian grumbled, eyes staying shut and his breathing beginning to slow.

 

“Live and learn, right,” Poe asked, keeping his voice low as he took the leaning mug away from the younger man and placing it on the table, the notebook joining it a moment later.  “Finally feeling sleepy?”

 

Bastian hummed slightly in response, curling further into Poe’s chest, and Poe had a flash of memory from the time ten-year-old Bastian had an ear infection and refused to sleep anywhere other than on Poe.  But Bastian now was too big for that, and Poe gentled the younger man to his pillow.

 

“Hey, Finn and my friend Iolo are coming over for dinner,” Poe mentioned, getting to his feet and crossing to the light switch.

 

“Kay,” Bastian breathed back, rolling onto his stomach and hugging his arms around his pillow.

 

“Okay,” Poe echoed, grinning to himself as he shut off the light.

 

*****

 

“It smells really good,” Bastian declared, exiting Poe’s bedroom while rubbing a fist against his left eye, clearing the sleep gunk there.

 

“Thanks, bud.  Is that what you’re wearing,” Poe said in one breath, looking away from the tomato sauce that had been simmering for the past four hours and running a critical eye over the younger man’s gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans.

 

“Uh, no?  I guess not,” Bastian answered uncertainly, glancing over to Finn, seated on the sofa for guidance.  Finn just shrugged and took a sip of red wine.  Focusing back on the man at the stove, he asked, “What do you want me to wear, papi?”

 

“How ‘bout we start with something that fits,” Poe suggested firmly, pointing a sauce-stained wooden spoon at the bedroom, and Bastian backed up, closing the door still training a bewildered look on Poe.

 

“You’re so subtle,” Finn drawled, getting to his feet and strolling over to lean against the kitchen peninsula.  “Jesus, why didn’t you go into covert ops?”

 

“Alright, funny man,” Poe shot back, unamused, giving the sauce another stir before dropping the spoon in the empty can on the counter.  “Like you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Finn shrugged, like it was obvious.  “But I didn’t go demanding a costume change like a weirdo.”

 

Poe rolled his eyes and took a large gulp of wine from his stemless glass.  “Dunno why I’m the one freaking out,” he muttered after swallowing, checking the time on the digital clock on the microwave.

 

“Because the two people who _would_ be freaking out don’t have a clue what’s going on,” Finn countered, cocking his head to the side with a pointed look.

 

Poe opened his mouth to retort that sass wasn’t necessary, but Bastian’s voice interrupted with a tentative, “Is this better?”

 

Poe and Finn both turned to give Bastian’s soft burgundy V-neck sweater and skinny black jeans a once-over and then exchanged knowing smiles.  Bastian looked between the two curiously before shrugging and deciding someone would tell him if he needed to know.  He traipsed around Finn, landing a quick smack on Finn’s shoulder as he passed, and into the narrow kitchen, dodging around Poe to grab the spoon, and set to the tall pot with evident purpose.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Poe snapped with a smile, moving to box the taller man into the corner, out of reach of the stove.  “That’s gotta feed three other people, bud.”

 

“Just want a taste,” Bastian whined, his eyes widening in innocence, but Poe frowned back.

 

“I know you better than that, baby boy.”

 

“ _Baby boy_ ,” Finn echoed, almost offended on Bastian’s behalf.

 

“Yeah, he calls me that when I’m being annoying or he’s about to beat the crap out of someone,” Bastian replied, trying to slip around Poe, but the older man’s arms shot out to trap the hockey player between the counter and his own body.

 

“I didn’t beat the crap out of him,” Poe stated, keeping his eyes on Bastian as he directed to Finn, “He’s exaggerating.”

 

“No, _he’s_ not,” Bastian retorted, sing-song with a bright smile.  “I heard you—the walls were thin, remember?  And you give me shit about fighting.”

 

“You heard me throw him out of the house, and the two have nothing to do each other,” Poe said calmly through clenched teeth.

 

“Okay, I’m going to need the full story at some point,” Finn advised, and Poe dropped his head with a heavy sigh as Bastian shifted his weight from foot to foot excitedly.

 

“So, I was sixteen and Poe had this guy over for a study date--,”

 

“Not a date,” Poe supplied as Bastian continued,

 

“—and this guy got all handsy when Poe left the room to make me hot chocolate--,”

 

“Fuck,” Finn groaned, closing his eyes.

 

“Right,” Poe asked over his shoulder, vindicated.

 

“—so I pushed him off and booked it to Poe, blubbered out everything, and he goes ‘go to your room, lock the door, and don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe, baby boy,’” Bastian finished a little too brightly for his audience.

 

“And you didn’t beat the crap out of him,” Finn asked Poe, with a slightly accusatory tone.

 

“I wanted to,” Poe allowed, “but I also had a scared teenager cowering in his room to think about.”

 

“I wasn’t _cowering_.”

 

“You were hiding in your closet,” Poe said mildly, looking back up at Bastian, who’s lip twisted in embarrassment.

 

“And thus began the theme of my life,” Bastian offered to Finn with a noble shot at humor.  Poe grimaced and then quickly snaked his arms around Bastian’s waist and squeezed hard.  “Too tight,” Bastian wheezed, pushing at Poe’s shoulder half-heartedly as the doorbell rang.

 

“I’ll get it,” Finn announced although the two men in the kitchen didn’t show any sign of hearing as Poe started peppering Bastian’s neck with obnoxious kisses.  Snorting in amusement, Finn headed for the door, wine glass in one hand.  He glanced back into the kitchen, seeing that Bastian was completely distracted as he tried to strain away from Poe, and pulled open the door with a smile.  “Hey, Iolo,” he smiled, stepping aside to let the other man in.

 

“Good evening, Finn,” Iolo answered with an easy smile, stepping over the threshold as a loud cackle echoed from the kitchen.  “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

 

“Nah, I think they’re always like that.  Here, I can hold that for you,” Finn said, taking the small red giftbag from Iolo as the man quickly unbuttoned his overcoat, hanging it in the closet Finn nodded him towards as Bastian moaned loudly,

 

“Po-oe, come on!  Let me go!”

 

“You’re going to eat with the rest of us or you’re not eating at all.”

 

“I’m not ten anymore!”

 

“They’re kinda,” Finn began, breaking off at the shocked expression on the man, now pressing himself against the apartment door.  Finn tried to smile encouragingly.  “You’re okay.”

 

“I think I’m dreaming,” Iolo gasped out, eyes wide behind his glasses

 

Finn just shook his head, reaching out to grip Iolo’s elbow and tug lightly.  “Come on in.  There’s someone I think you need to meet.”

 

Iolo allowed himself to be led into the apartment, eyes apprehensive and steps cautious as he took in the scene.  Bastian had gotten free of the corner and was stretching out with the wooden spoon towards the bubbling pot while Poe was dug in his heels and held Bastian back.  Bastian clearly wasn’t trying very hard since he had weight and muscle on Poe.  He let out another bright laugh as Poe dug his fingers into the younger man’s stomach.  Poe glanced to his left, saw Iolo standing in astonishment next to Finn, and grinned mischievously.

 

“Hey,” Poe said casually, easing his grip from holding to turning Bastian by his hips to face the living room.  “Bas, I’d like you to meet Iolo.”

 

Iolo’s jaw hit his chest.

 

Bastian’s body hit the floor.

 

“Holy shit,” Finn blurted out, the first one to return to his senses and rushing to lean over the peninsula.  “Bas, are you--,”

 

“Fine, fine.  I’m good, all good.  Just gonna—stay here and wait for death,” came Bastian slightly panic-stricken babbling.

 

“I had better leave,” Iolo murmured, and Bastian let out a slightly strangled whimper.  Poe dropped to his knees, studying the hockey player’s face before saying slowly,

 

“No one’s leaving.  Right, bud?”

 

Iolo frowned, concerned, approaching the counter to stand next to Finn, observing as Bastian nodded jerkily in response to Poe’s question.  Poe nodded back, understandingly.

 

“You just need a minute, right?  Just need to breathe, bud.”

 

Iolo watched as the man that had haunted his thoughts for weeks buried his head in his hands, just as he had when he had choked out his goodbye.  His heart squeezed in his chest and he glared at Poe, who was rubbing his palm along Bastian’s arm.  “This was not nice of you,” he ground out, Poe’s head snapping up at the words.

 

“Okay, I know it looks bad,” Poe allowed, and even Bastian let out a soft snort at that.  “But in my defense, he did the exact same thing to me with Finn.”

 

“I heard that story,” Iolo growled, curling his hands into fists against the granite countertop.  “And if you think this is even remotely the same you have lost your mind.”

 

“Yeah,” Bastian squeaked out.  “What he said.”

 

Poe sucked in his bottom lip, looking to Finn for support, but he was knocking back the rest of his wine, head thrown back.  Iolo, however, smiled softly down at the bowed head.  Carefully, Iolo walked around the counter, Poe’s eyes following him.  Gaze not leaving Bastian, Iolo genuflected before him, folding his hands around his bent knee.

 

“ ‘Bastian’ is a beautiful name,” he commented, and Bastian’s head popped up, mouth gaping at the sudden nearness of the kind-eyed man.

 

“Thank you,” Bastian mumbled, gaze darting over to Poe, who sat back on his heels and didn’t say anything.  “Um, ‘Iolo’ is really pretty too.  I—I mean, the name,” Bastian stammered in panic.

 

“I understand you,” Iolo nodded, smiling calmly and easily and Bastian tried to focus on that, tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest.  “How do you feel?”

 

“I’ll let you know when my heart starts up again,” Bastian replied with a shaky smile.  Poe shifted back, reaching up to turn off the stove since it didn’t seem like anyone was eating any time soon.

 

“I am very sorry for scaring you,” Iolo said, holding out his hands, palms up with a hopeful look.  Bastian swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, staring at the offered appendages and then apprehensively placing his fingertips against Iolo’s creased palms.  “I had no idea, I promise you.”

 

“Yeah, I—I could tell,” Bastian answered with a small chuckle.  “Looked like you saw a ghost there.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure I did,” Iolo agreed, a little breathless.  “I think I missed hearing your voice the most.”

 

“Kinda thought you might be sick of it after—that night,” Bastian said, ducking his head as Iolo closed his fingers around Bastian’s loosely.  “I think I talked your ear off.”

 

“No,” Iolo disagreed lightly, squeezing Bastian’s fingers to bring the younger man’s gaze back to him.  “Absolutely not.  I enjoyed speaking with you.  I would like to speak with you more, if you will allow me.”

 

“I, um,” Bastian swallowed again, unable to look away.  “I’m pretty good at talking.”

 

“And I at listening,” Iolo said, inclining his head.  “Perhaps we could talk more, if you are interested?”

 

“I—yeah, I—we can but there’s some stuff about me that—I mean, I’m—not,” and Bastian’s voice failed him with a rasp.  He tore his gaze away from the concerned expression trained on him and sent a pleading look at Poe, who was sitting back against the oven door, watching.

 

“What he’s trying to say,” Poe began but he went quiet as both Finn and Iolo shook their heads at him.

 

“Why don’t we take things very slowly,” Iolo suggested to Bastian with an open, hopeful smile.  “I confess that I am still marveling that I may have a chance to speak with you again.”

 

Bastian blinked, eyes blown wide at that confession.  “You—you mean, just talking?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Iolo agreed instantly with an eager nod.  “Talking with you is more than I dared to hope for.”

 

“Poe,” Finn hissed through his teeth, jerking his head towards the bedroom once said man looked his way.  Poe shook his head, frowning, and Finn widened his eyes meaningfully and pointed towards the other room.

 

“No, no, there’s no need for that,” Iolo informed the two silently arguing men, gathering his feet under him, tugging on Bastian’s hands to urge him up.  “I believe I was invited to a cozy dinner.  Isn’t that right, Poe?”

 

“I promise the food is worth it,” Poe blurted out, scrambling to his feet and turning the burner back on as Iolo and Bastian stood in tandem at a more sedated pace.  “Iolo, Bas, need some alcohol?”

 

“Yes,” Iolo agreed, giving Bastian’s fingers in his another, what Bastian would call tender, squeeze before letting go and turning to listen to Poe’s list of alcoholic options.

 

“Do you need a minute,” Finn asked Bastian in a hushed undertone as the younger man moved out of the kitchen almost in a daze.  “You could go lie down or something, if you need to.”

 

“I—I think I’m good,” Bastian answered hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck and looking over his shoulder as Iolo accepted a glass of wine from a fast-talking Poe.  “Just—he’s…him.”

 

“Yeah,” Finn agreed with a friendly smile.  “And you’re okay with that, right?”

 

Bastian swallowed, watching as Iolo cut off Poe’s indistinct rambling with a low, calm murmur his eyes caught Bastian’s, and winked.  “I—think I might be,” Bastian replied, voice lilting up not entirely convincingly.  Finn nodded understandingly, patting the younger man on the arm, and Bastian caught sight of the gift bag in the other man’s hand.  “What’s that?”

 

“Eh, I have no idea,” Finn shrugged, holding the small red bag with white tissue paper out to Bastian.  “Open it and find out.”

 

Bastian’s face broke into a bright, beaming smile as he took the bag and tore out the tissue paper with enthusiasm that left Finn convinced that the younger man was one of those people who loved presents.  “Oh my fucking God,” Bastian uttered, staring down into the bag.

 

“What—oh, no way,” Poe grinned, noticing.  “You actually found it,” he asked Iolo in a giddy tone that left the bespectacled man confused.

 

“Holy mother of God,” Bastian breathed, the bag falling to the ground at his feet as he marveled at the tall metal container in his hand.  “Poe, look!  It’s all fancy!”

 

“Well, what do ya know, bud,” Poe laughed, taking the object thrust into his hands and quickly scanning the label.  “Looks like you can finally have some white chocolate after your game tomorrow.”

 

“Game,” Iolo questioned before he was grabbed into a sudden, tight hug.

 

“Thank you so much, I don’t know _how_ —I guess Poe must’ve—but thank you thank you thank you--,”

 

“Bas has a bit of a sweet tooth,” Poe mentioned lightly as Iolo let himself sink into the engulfing embrace around him.  “And he’s got a bit of a tradition of drinking this stuff after a hockey game.”

 

“Ah.  You still play hockey,” Iolo said, a little surprised.

 

“Play it?  It’s my job,” Bastian answered excitedly, starting to pull away, but Iolo’s hands around his hips tightened and he stayed.  “Seriously, they pay me and everything.”

 

“Is that how you were injured?”

 

“Huh,” Bastian asked, blinking.  Iolo reached up and placed two fingers under the youngest man’s right eye, just barely pressing feather-weighted there.  “Oh, that.  Yeah, there was a fight last night.  I already promised Poe I wouldn’t drop the mitts tomorrow, so don’t go scolding me.”

 

“I will certainly not scold,” Iolo murmured, studying the younger man’s face.  “An interesting life you lead.”

 

“He keeps us on our toes,” Poe agreed, checking the doneness of a meatball.

 

“If I didn’t you’d be bored in a second,” Bastian retorted, sticking out his tongue and Poe responded in kind.

 

“Just so you know,” Finn said, leaning in to whisper against Iolo’s ear as Bastian and Poe started poking at each other with increasing force and giggles, “you’ll have to get used to them being…like this _all_ the time.”

 

“I honestly look forward to it,” Iolo responded, leaning back and sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans watching as the poke war dissolved into a tickle fight, Bastian collapsing to the floor first in laughter, Poe following a breath later with a victorious shout, grabbing for one of Bastian’s flailing bare feet.  Finn leaned next to Iolo, looking at the two men wrestling on the floor in amusement, lifting his right foot to avoid being whacked by Bastian’s thrashing arm.

 

“Me too,” Finn agreed, mostly to himself, but accepting Iolo nod of comradery with one of his own.

 

“Uncle!  U-uncle, P-Poe!”

 

“Sorry, there’s no Uncle Poe here—try another number.” 

 

“C-cousin, aunt, b-brother--!”

 

“Getting warmer…”

 

“I think the sauce is burning.”

 

“Nice try, pal, but that won’t save this guy.”

 

“No, I believe Finn is right.”

 

“Drat!”

 

“Save the sauce, papi!”

 

“Get out of my kitchen.”      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how was that for a crazy ride?
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to every single one of you who left a comment or kudos or bookmarked this story. It truly means a lot to me to see that people read an enjoyed this little story. You are all simply spectacular. 
> 
> As of now this is a stand alone, but as always, if I get new ideas for this universe I'll definitely add to it :)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! This is going to be a shorter one, just so you know.
> 
> Any and all comments and kudos are welcomed, relished, and enjoyed. I try to reply to all comments. Updates will happen, and I don't leave stories unfinished (even if there are sometimes gaps between updates, because life).


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